


The Q Word

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Natasha of Asgard [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Author's obsession with Jane Eyre, Complete, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Loki is always in trouble, Lokitty because I love him, Natasha's a BAMF!, Romance, Some Fluff, Violence worthy of a viking bard, body-double, comic-book worthy violence, shamelessly bad puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Loki are engaged in a slow, intimate game with unintended consequences, when a new Romanov appears. Add the threat of an ancient evil in the London underground, and romance must battle with adventure - all while dealing with 'The Q Word'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Q Word

**Author's Note:**

> As a dedicated FanFiction reader, I've had the experience of falling in love with a story only to have it abandoned later. Therefore, I promise to you, Dear Reader, any story of mine is already finished and edited before I start posting it. 
> 
> I reserve the right to drive ridiculous plot points in order to support terrible puns.

 

_Report # 58NZ-PrisLoki_

_Date: Unspecified_

_Location: Stark Towers_

_Transport of Prisoner L. to Stark Towers from the realm of Asgard is complete, under supervision of the captive’s brother._

_Captive is in possession of no extra powers, beyond the ability to morph into several forms: Humanoid, female, and an unknown alien known as “Frost Giant.” Ability is necessary to allow captive to maintain humanoid form while under control of SHIELD._

_Captive’s guardian assures SHIELD captive is rendered powerless and is no longer a threat. Captive has no communication with other realms._

_Captive is sent as form of punishment; SHIELD is paid undisclosed amount to care for Captive. (See Mission Costs 2012 – 2013.exe)_

_Captive is under orders to provide as much assistance to SHIELD as needed during recoup period from recent events (see: Chitauri Invasion, Report# 49JC-Chit.)_

_Any observed irregularities of the above on part of Captive are to be made known to entity  “All-Father Odin” and will result in removal of captive to the realm called Asgard._

* * *

 

The fact that Loki was a genius with computers surprised everyone, and none more so than the God of Mischief himself. He had dismissed the laptop assigned to him by SHIELD as a mortal device fit only for a doorstop, but when he was crushed with boredom and started to play on the flimsy machine he found it had a system of logic that made sense to him. Furthermore, separated as he was from the bulk of his magic, it was a way to control things, to make things happen the way _he_ wanted them to.

 “What are you doing?” Tony peered curiously at the screen, and Loki slid it away from him.

“I believe it is called ‘tweeting’,” he replied in a cold tone.

“Tweeting? You? Really?” Tony had been about to shove an entire croissant into his mouth, but he put the pastry down. “I’m just trying to imagine summing up your life in 140 characters. What hash tags do you send out? Don’t answer; let me guess – ‘#GloriousPurpose,’ ‘#ThanosSucks’…”

“Hang on.” Banner leaned over his shoulder, where they sat around a long table, waiting for Fury to start the meeting. “Just how many followers do you have?”

Loki frowned and looked behind him. “No one followed me here from my room. I made certain of it.”

“No, I’m talking about … oh, just look at your profile.” Banner clicked a key on Loki’s board and whistled. “Holy cow – over 590,000!”

“What?” Tony, who had taken a bite of the croissant, breathed out crumbs and started coughing. “I don’t have that many! Jarvis, take a memo: Buy me more followers.”

“So what? Lots of followers, big deal.” Clint drank a long swallow of iced coffee.

“When Velociraptor sends out a message, over half a million people read it. You do the math.” Tony spread out his hands in simulated dismay.

“Are we comfortable with this?” Clint asked.

“The god of memes is being monitored, you know. Jarvis will alert us if anything take-over-the-world-y or raise-an-army-ish comes from that keyboard.” Tony ate the remaining end of his croissant.

“The god of memes sits next to you and can hear every word,” Loki snapped. Secretly, however, he was a bit proud of his accomplishments on the Midgardian computing device. To catch the attention of the people in the room with his number of followers was somewhat gratifying.

There was one person, however, who hadn’t acknowledged his new Twitter army or even his presence. One red curl fell across her face as she bent over her own computer, intent on something on the screen. It miffed Loki, and he decided to catch her attention.

Before he could speak, however, Fury entered the room. “Any progress with the Clerkenwell Syndicate? I’ve about had it with those assholes.”

“Do they still have those stolen airjets?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, in their underground lair.”

“…Called the SNAKE.” Steve interrupted Nick. Loki glanced at him; the tall man looked pleased with himself that he recognized the reference.

“Yeah. I wish _someone_ would get those motherfucking planes out of that motherfucking SNAKE,” Fury snapped.

“I’m on it.” Natasha spoke without looking up from the screen. “I’ve narrowed down their location to ten possibilities worldwide…”

Loki stopped listening, already bored, and focused on his new program designed to create and send out provocative tweets and tumblr blogs at five-minute intervals.

* * *

 

After the meeting Loki folded up his laptop, left the room, and slid around the corner. He knew the way Agent Romanoff took to return to her quarters. He pressed his body to the wall and waited; in a few minutes the sight of her slim figure topped by the usual wild red curls rewarded him.

“Agent Natasha.” He stepped out of a doorway, and she looked up in surprise.

“What do you want?” Her tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t forthcoming, either.

“I merely wondered why you didn’t speak to me today in the meeting.”

Her face was usually expressionless, he had learned that much, but a slight frown creased her forehead. “I was doing my job – in fact, I’m still on the job, if you’ll excuse me.”

She stepped to one side to continue, but he stepped in front of her. “Narrowing the possibilities, you mean? Wouldn’t you rather widen them?”

“Sometimes it’s the same thing.” She seemed to dismiss him and turned away.

He took a long stride to stand in front of her again and folded his arms. “Just a moment.”

“What is it?”

 He tilted up his chin. “Your dedication and intelligence intrigue me. I have made the decision to take you into my bed. Let us pleasure each other.”

That _did_ get her attention. She turned back to him, and he was gratified to see her eyes widen, presumably with gratified desire. At least it would mean an hour or two of diversion…

Those thoughts were knocked out of his head by a black leather boot heel to the left side of his head. In the next second, he found himself on the ground, her foot on the side of his face. “I can’t tell you how much that is _not_ going to happen,” she growled, “not if you were the last demigod on this or the other end of an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”

He could have easily gripped her ankle, flipped her onto the floor, and crushed her head beneath his own boot, but he suddenly realized something.

He was no longer bored.

He had been given a challenge.

And it was worthy and entertaining enough to keep him occupied for at least three days and seventeen hours, according to his mental calculations.

Her eyes still blazed with anger, but a certain wary expression crossed her face. _She knows,_ he thought. _She knows she just upped this game and piqued my interest._ He added two more days to the time she would entertain him and began to grin.

Natasha withdrew her foot. “Know something? You’re not worth it.”

He bounded to his feet, taking care she noticed how lithe and smooth his movements were. “May I ask why not?” His voice was calm, and he dropped the tone lower, into what he liked to call the ‘purring’ range. “I assure you I am extremely skilled at all forms of copulation.”

There was an instant when her cheekbones seemed to register amusement – a split second. Then it was gone. “May I remind you of the little name you had for me the last time we spoke?”

“What little name?”

She waved one hand in an impatient gesture. “Don’t. You’re too intelligent to pretend you have forgotten.”

“Ah.” He tipped back his head again so he could look down at her from under his eyelids. “I dared to tell you the truth – you should be on your hands and knees to thank me…”

“No,” she interjected. “It’s not that. I dissected the phrase you used, actually, word by word. ‘Mewling’ means a series of repeated cries, as would be made by a kitten, for example. And you don’t need to explain it - I got your point. From a very twisted system of logic, it makes sense that turning from one code to another does not negate the past, even if my new system of thinking is more honorable. No. It was the other word…”

A delighted grin spread over his features, and he added still more days to his mental Romanova As Entertainment sum. “Quim,” he breathed.

“I was going to call it the Q-word, but yes. When you called me that, you reduced everything I am – intellect, personality, and energy – to one small part of my body.”

“You do have one, you know,” he reminded her in a gentle voice, “and I am certain it is glorious. But I see I offended you, and I suppose I should make reparation. Please tell me how I may bring it about.”

“’Make reparation’ – my Asgardian translator tells me by that you mean ‘get into my pants’. And I repeat – not going to happen.” She swiveled and walked away from him.

Loki was able to hold back for a few seconds before he burst into laughter. _Delicious!_ It had been tasty, the entire conversation, so ripe, so pregnant with meaning, he wanted to prolong it. A series of retorts sprang into his mind, along with several of her answers to each riposte; it was like a bright, twisting tunnel before him, and he knew exactly how to bring it about and where it would lead.

With a quick leap he ran after her, calculating the rate of her movements, air pressure, and his own speed. As he turned the corner, he prepared to shout the comment most likely to win her to his bed…

And stopped.

The corridor was empty, devoid of everything except for the lights overhead.

The Black Widow had disappeared.


	2. Toasting ... Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Loki are engaged in a slow, intimate game with unintended consequences, when a new Romanov appears. Add the threat of an ancient evil in the London underground, and romance must battle with adventure - all while dealing with the Q Word.

 

Natasha moved through the air duct quickly on all fours. She found the slat above her own rooms and moved it to one side before dropping through into her sitting room, and froze.

Someone was at the window, a dark figure silhouetted against the light.

He turned, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Clint.”

“Hey.” His face crinkled, as it always did when he saw her. “Air duct?”

“Of course.”

“Exercise? Or someone bothering you?”

“Momentary distraction. And I must ask you the same thing – why did you break into my rooms? As an exercise?”

He ran one hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. She always thought he looked absurdly youthful when he did so. “I – actually, I have something really delicate to tell you, and I’m not quite certain how to start.”

She wanted a shower, a change of clothes, and most of all, to narrow the list of ten possibilities for the SNAKE hideout to five before hearing another proposition for her sexual favors. However, this was her friend in front of her, not an asshat demigod with delusions of grandeur.

She sat next to Clint on the couch and crossed her legs. “Just blurt it out. You won’t be the first today, believe me.”

“It’s really – the thing is, it’s a bit of a life-changer for you. Hill informed me this morning we have received a communiqué. Apparently a member of your own family is alive, and she knows _you_ are alive. And she wants to meet you.”

Something in her stomach flipped over, before she shook her head with her usual calm. “Not possible. I was the only one rescued from the fire in Stalingrad.”

“Apparently you had a sister.” He stretched out and dug a picture out of his pocket. “A twin, Tasha. You had a twin sister.” He handed her a stiff card, an old photograph of two babies dressed in Edwardian lace on a bearskin rug, both staring solemnly into the camera.

Her eyes closed for a moment before she tossed the photo back to him. “What of it? This must be a fake. And even if I did, which I highly doubt, my sister wouldn’t have been enhanced, retrofitted, psycho-technologically transformed as I was. She would be dead by now.”

“She had a daughter, who also had a daughter. Apparently this girl survives.” Clint took out another picture and put it on the cushion next to her on the couch, and Natasha moved away as though it were a serpent, not looking at it. “She has no other family, so she did a great deal of research – and discovered a trail leading to you.”

Natasha still didn’t pick up the picture; instead, she rose and, as Clint had done, stared out of the window. The sun was going down, and long streaks of red bled across the sky. “She doesn’t know the truth…” she murmured.

Clint joined her. “No. She thinks you are, as she is, a descendant of the Romanoffs.” He took a long breath. “I can’t begin to understand how you feel about all of this, but I did think it was important to tell you.”

Natasha nodded, but she couldn’t trust herself to speak.

“And,” he continued, “if there’s anything I can do – if you need anything – maybe not now, but later, when you’ve started to process this a bit…”

She wanted to break the window. She wanted to hurl both pictures out, the daguerreotype of the twins and the as-yet-unseen photo, watch them drift down, down, down to the street, to be run over by traffic, pissed on by drunks, stepped on by people with simple lives and pure destinations. She wanted to scream, to punch a hole through the wall. No, several holes.

Instead she faced her partner and forced a smile onto her face. “You did the right thing.”

He pursed his lips together and breathed out a long sigh of relief. “Whew! I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that! I was thinking about this all morning, kind of running through the scene in my head, you know? Wondering how it would play out.”

She bumped his elbow with hers. “And? How did it play out?”

His face did that crinkly thing again. “With a lot of contusions. Mine, actually.”

“I’m not going to punch you. But I would like – as you put it – to process this on my own for a bit.”

With instant understanding, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Of course. I totally get that.” He put the stiff photo of the two twin girls on the table and walked to the door. Before he left, he added, “You need anything – anything at all – and you call me.”

She nodded and closed the door after him. When it clicked shut, she fell against it and dug her fingers into her hair. She allowed her knees to go weak, to fall to the floor. There, she buried her head in her arms and tried to ‘process’.

A moment passed, or perhaps an hour. Natasha jerked her head up and realized she needed vodka, a _lot_ of vodka.

She jumped to her feet, unconsciously using the same twisting move Loki had exhibited during their little interaction, and padded to the kitchen. One look into the back of her freezer told her she had finished her last bottle.

Natasha cursed and yanked open the doors to the cupboards. She had to have a bottle somewhere.

The shelves were filled with neat rows of crystal and porcelain, but no alcohol. _Damn._ She would simply have to go and steal some from Tony.

 

* * *

 

Showered and changed, Natasha prepared to mount what she termed Operation Get Drunk. Shoes in hand, she tiptoed to the door, praying Tony’s vodka stash wasn’t Cake Batter flavored. There she stepped into her heels and turned the knob to open the door.

A tray sat on the floor of the hall. There was an ice bucket with a bottle of Purus inside, flanked by caviar, toast, and a bowls of chopped egg, red onion, and what looked like crème fraiche.

“Yessssss! Come to mama!” Natasha bent and picked up the tray, mentally thanking Clint. For once, he had guessed exactly what she needed. With her hip she closed the door and plonked the tray on the table in front of the couch.

There were two crystal tumblers next to the bottle, both frosted with ice. _I only need one, Clint,_ she mused. Quickly she broke the seal on the Purus, and poured the icy liquid into the frozen glass.

It tasted like another, and another. By the time she thought of opening the tin of caviar, she was already beginning to smile at the memory of her plan to grab Tony’s stash.

“What is so funny?”

The voice was cool, familiar. Natasha looked up in the middle of pouring another glass and gasped. A tall woman with long, black hair stood in front of her with another bottle of Purus in her hand.

“Who are you?” she demanded. It came out as “Whore you?”

The woman laughed with lips painted as dark as her hair. “That’s probably appropriate. I thought we would need another bottle, pretty, and I should be the one to open the caviar. You don’t want to cut yourself.” She moved to the kitchen, and Natasha’s mouth opened as she heard the woman put the bottle she held in the freezer. “There. Now. Pour me a glass, lovely, and let’s toast …possibilities.”


	3. Operation Drunk

 

Time melted into a delicious, liquid stream of flirtation, salt, and ice. After a few more drinks, Natasha revealed to her new friend her plans for stealing Tony’s vodka. “I was just hoping it wouldn’t be flavored with fig or pomegranate,” she confided.

The woman’s lips quirked as she handed Natasha another full glass. “Vodka must be pure,” she agreed. “And cold.”

Natasha pursed her lips and looked at the tumbler. “This one’s a bit warm.”

“Allow me - ice in vodka is tragic.” She leaned forward and slipped one finger into Natasha’s drink; instantly the liquid cooled.

“Wait – what? How did you – who – ohhhhh, that’s the perfect temperature. Oh my.”

“Oh my,” the woman breathed. “And why don’t you call me Lady? Yes, Lady will do very well. And tell me more about your Operation Drunk.” She pressed Natasha back down onto the sofa with one assured, firm hand.

With another sip, Tasha shrugged. “The usual, really – talk Jarvis into cooperating…”

“Yes, you’re very good at that…”

“…Break into the apartment, grab the goods, go back through the air vents.”

“Air vents! Aha, that’s how you did it.”

“Did what?”

The Lady ignored the question. “And all without getting caught by the estimable Mr. Stark, or you would be talked to death.”

Natasha gestured with her drink, spilling it on her arm. “Yes! He’d be all, _Hey, Red Rum, don’t they pay you enough to buy your own, wait, I’m the one to pay your salary, so maybe I’ll give you a raise if you give me back my booze…_ ”

Lady leaned forward and licked the liquid from Natasha’s arm. “I do hate to see good vodka go to waste.”

For some reason, Natasha found that very funny. “Poor Pepper! She has to put up with him, you know.”

Lady’s eyes gleamed. “Can you imagine his kissing technique? He probably does this…” She felt for Natasha’s hand, raised it to her dark lips. “Nice skin,” she said in an excellent impression of Tony’s voice.

Natasha instantly followed her lead. “’Can I call you Jergens? Maybe not. Maybe Olay – no, that’s worse.’”

“’Hey, do you like it when I do this? People always do it in movies, so I wanted to try it, but it could be one of those cool-in-movies-not-so-much-in-real-life things. Like morning breath.’” As she spoke she kissed the inside of Natasha’s arm, leaving a trail of black lipstick marks. “He probably keeps talking the entire time while he does the deed,” Lady marveled. “Another drink?”

“I can just picture Pepper’s face, trying to appear interested but thinking to herself, ‘Shut up and start thrusting, dumbass.’”

Lady threw her head back in a delicious, full-throated laugh.

“You snorted!” Natasha said. This set them both off again, and somehow she ended up halfway in Lady’s lap.

“Time for another drink,” Lady said. “Don’t move.” She rose, went to the kitchen and fetched the second bottle. With one long finger she tipped Natasha’s head back before she picked up the Purus and poured an icy puddle into the hollow of Natasha’s throat before leaning over to lap it up with her tongue.

“My turn.” Natasha flipped them both over with one quick motion and seized the bottle. Raising Lady’s shirt, she poured a thin stream into the woman’s bellybutton and licked the spirits with her tongue. Vodka, she discovered, was even more delicious when you drank it from someone’s soft, chilled skin.

“Now, can you imagine Steve doing that?” Lady’s hand cupped Natasha’s chin, and she drew the agent up to give her a kiss full on the lips. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I’m afraid you have spilled some of your drink in my navel.”

“Allow me to fetch you a red, white, and blue towel,” Natasha added. “And he can’t drink, you know.”

Lady shook her head and tut-tutted. “Truly tragic,” she marveled. “Here, tip your head back.” She poured another drink, this time right into Natasha’s mouth, and followed it with a deep kiss. “Mmmmm,” she added. “Steve has no idea what he’s missing.”

Natasha swallowed, choked, and sat up, waving her glass. “Another,” she slurred. “This is the first time I’ve had fun in a long time. I don’t know where you came from, but you were an answer to a prayer.”

With a gleam in her eyes, Lady poured the last of the vodka into the glass. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Hey! Were you the one who left the bottle in front of my door?”

“Yes,” Lady said, drawing out the final S. “And we are out of alcohol. What do you say we try that Operation Drunk after all? Through the air vents?”

“That’s the best idea I ever heard!” Natasha stood up, swaying. “I mean, that is seriously genius! Like, you are totally the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met Banner.”

“Is this the place?” Lady pointed to a ceiling panel and tested it with one hand. She was tall enough to reach it when she stood on tiptoe.

“Yup. Here, I’ll give you a leg up.” Natasha held out her hands and helped the woman climb up… and she made another discovery.

“You’re not wearing underwear!” Lady’s dress had slipped up her thighs while she climbed, revealing a thin line of black hair descending to a smooth, elegant slit.

Lady laughed again as she climbed up easily and held out one long arm. “Here, precious. Pull your lovely self up behind me and we’ll relieve Mr. Stark of several of his bottles.”

 

* * *

 

Perhaps crawling after Lady wasn’t such a good idea, Natasha pondered, as they made their way through the vent system. Since she was in back, the position afforded her an excellent view of the woman’s legs, hips, butt, and – the Q-word. Did she have any idea Natasha could see everything?

“Praying there won’t be Fruit Loop flavored Stoly?” Natasha asked simply in order to say something.

The answer was preceded by a breathless laugh. “I have seen Stark’s bar, and he had some tolerable bottles. If there are any flavored like loops or fruit, I promise to do whatever you ask me to when we return.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then you must promise me the same thing,” the whisper came back.

Natasha nodded to herself. Yup, Lady knew what she was doing all right.

At last they made it to the tile directly over Tony’s bar. With hushed giggles, the two of them maneuvered it aside. Lady dropped down first, and Natasha followed to land neatly on the ground beside her; instantly she found herself enveloped in a cloud of black hair and two slim, strong arms.

“Mmmmm … wait – alcohol,” Natasha whispered. “Could you imagine if Tony found us like this?’

“Bet he would need add-on parts for the Iron suit,” Lady laughed. “Very well – let us see. Vodka, vodka – no, just brown liquids.”

With a surge of victorious delight, Natasha found a bottle. “Here we are. Oh, and by the way – it’s lemon-flavored, which means you lose the bet. Lemon, in case you didn’t know, is a fruit.”

She waved the bottle and fell into Lady’s arms again. “Climb back up, delicious thing – you first, this time,” the dark-haired beauty insisted.

Natasha was relieved she didn’t have to follow the view of Lady’s ass again; this feeling faded when she realized it was now the other way around. Lady didn’t bother to hide her appreciation, either; as they rounded the final curve, she let out a long, slow whistle. “You are an intoxicating woman, Natasha.”

“Uh, okay?” Thank goodness, they had arrived back at her room before she had to say anything else. With a shaky breath, she lowered herself into her room, holding the bottle of vodka in her hand.

Lady landed next to her, as lightly as a cat. “You won our little wager. What did you want me to do first?”

“Um…” A flash of inspiration hit Natasha, and she held out the vodka. “Chill this for us?”

“Darling, of course,” Lady breathed. She grasped the bottle and a skin of ice formed over it. “8 degrees Celsius – the perfect temperature.”

“Perfect,” Natasha echoed. “Come with me.” She led the way to the couch and pointed to it. “Your turn – tip back your head.”

With a delighted laugh, Lady did as she was told and held her mouth open. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Natasha whispered. The photos, Clint’s visit, it all seemed very far away. Slowly she dribbled a thin stream of vodka into Lady’s mouth; once the woman swallowed, she put down the bottle.

“And now?” Lady’s eyes danced with mischief.

“A question. What’s up with the ‘no underwear’ thing?”

“Ah. You told me in the hallway you were troubled by what you called the Q-word. I thought you might forgive me if I showed you mine.” Lady’s lips parted.

“Wait. What? You told – who? What just happened?” Natasha felt her head whirl, and not only from the effects of the Purus.

A firm, strong hand curled around her neck and guided her mouth down, into a long, dark, lemon-tasting kiss, punctuated by sharp teeth and a soft, darting tongue. Before Natasha could protest, she found herself flipped over and pressed against the cushions. Lady didn’t just taste of lemons; she also had the flavor of pine, smoke, and tongue.

Natasha lost her breath. Slim fingertips brushed against the tips of her breasts, between her loosening thighs, stroked her neck. Strong hands gripped her chin, her hips, guiding her up to slide meltingly under her clothes. Somehow her shirt was gone… and Lady’s shirt had disappeared as well…and ohhhhh the satin ecstasy of skin against soft skin…

Something crackled under her butt. Natasha reared up, making Lady gasp, to retrieve the photo Clint had dropped there hours earlier. Her hand began to shake as she stared for the first time at the face in the photo; it was her own, framed by long, glassy blond hair.

Lady gave Natasha’s neck one last nip with her strong, white teeth and looked at the photo. “Who is that?”

Vodka and kisses swirled in Natasha’s brain. “Family. The only other Romanova in the world, according to Clint.” Anger exploded in her chest, and she pushed Lady away so she could sit up. “She’s probably out of college, has a nice job, a boyfriend, maybe a flat, a steady group of friends. No injections, no psycho-transfusions, no engineered memory, no bio-reorg.”

Like a frightened cat, Lady moved to the far end of the couch. Her upright breasts, tipped with dark nipples, bounced as she crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s probably perfect,” she whispered. “Everyone loves her. Everyone knows she’s going to succeed.”

Her dark hair, her white skin blurred in front of Natasha’s vision. “Yes, exactly,” she whispered back. “Exactly how did you…”

“…Know? How did I know?” Lady stood, and her body blurred again until it was replaced by Loki, standing in front of her dressed only in his pants. His physique was slender but corded with hard muscles; the sight registered even through Natasha’s daze. “Who would know better how that feels? To be the one who is the dark half – the dangerous one – _who better than I?”_ he shouted.

Natasha flinched against the bitter tone in his voice. “How dare you trick me? Get out of my flat. **NOW!”**            

He was already going. At the door, however, he turned and murmured something in Russian, so quietly she could barely hear it. “Ты не одна.”

With shaking hands, she slammed the door.

Ты не одна.

_You are not alone._


	4. The Lady or Loki?

 

Loki lay with his head pillowed on his crossed arms. His lips tightened as he reflected he had just thrown a perfect opportunity to bed the Black Widow. She was melting in his arms one moment (to be honest, they were the Lady’s arms, but what of that?) and the next the two of them were engaged in a shouting match.

Moreover, the neat lines of possibilities for the future of her seduction he had imagined in the hallway after his first encounter with Agent Romanov had just exploded and morphed into something much deeper, far more complex than he could ever dream of devising, _especially_ on Midgard. That someone – a mortal – could have something approaching his own situation was unthinkable.

His treacherous memory replayed the scene between the Russian agent and Lady Loki again in his mind. Natasha said. She kissed. She melted. She drank. She felt pain, just as he did.

_Just as he did._

It was the key, the reactor to bring the entire affair to something dark and dangerous. In only a few seconds, Natasha had thrust his careful plans into a hall of mirrors, so the silver glass refracted against each other in a myriad of possibilities.

_I have several options,_ he realized. _I can abandon my pursuit of her - it would be the safest choice._

At that thought, he curled one hand into a fist. Loki didn’t do ‘safe’.

Continuing his conquest of the agent would put him at risk of what, exactly? Perhaps drowning in his lust? Or sinking into a quagmire of unforeseen excitement? _Of course, danger always adds a bit of spice._ He bared his teeth in a feral smile at that thought.

Perhaps he would even take the route of waiting to see what occurred in the morning. Yes, that would be interesting. He was on edge, alert, perhaps even slightly nervous, but for the moment he was not bored.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into his usual, restless sleep, stabbed by blue nightmares, dangerous plans, red curls, and the endless swirl of his own wanton trickery.

 

* * *

 

The following morning in the boardroom, Natasha poured herself a black coffee. She drank it down, winced as the liquid burned her tongue, and poured another. Cursing the vodka, Loki, the unknown blond Romanova in the photo and most of all herself, she sat in front of her computer. Her time to narrow the ten possibilities of SNAKE HQ to five had evaporated, but perhaps a quick glance of the information would help her to be able to present _something_ to Fury when he started the meeting.

Clint grabbed his own coffee and sat next to her; she smiled at the familiar, comfortable feeling his presence always gave her. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” He grinned and flipped open his laptop.

The door opened again, and Loki stepped into the room. As soon as he saw her, his face filled with dimpled, wicked amusement, and before she could stop herself her lips betrayed a flash of answering humor.

Quickly she bent over her screen, hoping he wouldn’t sit next to her. Instead he chose the chair opposite, which was almost worse; as soon as she glanced up from her screen, her gaze was caught by his measuring, hooded eyes and another knowing smile.

Tony entered and sat with half a buttered bagel in one fist; he raised his eyebrows and looked around the table. “Wait a minute. Something’s going on - a sort of undercurrent kind of deal.” He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and sniffed the air. “I’m all about subplot, but I do wish someone would clue me in so I can make fun of it.”

Steve came in and sat on the other side of Natasha. “What are you talking about? Did I miss another reference?”

“I think we all missed something. Well, most of us. Which is, as I just pointed out, unfair. Right now I could be in the middle of a series of running jokes, more nicknames of course, maybe even a new line of cocktails – Subtextinis, or Secretitas. Naah, scratch that last. Anything with a syllable sounding like ‘teat’ just isn’t going to be a good beverage.”

Natasha felt her lips quiver, and she didn’t dare look at Loki. Luckily, Fury pushed his way into the conference room without a greeting and rescued her. “Another plane taken by those Islington assholes!” he shouted. “This one has a sick kid on it, by the way. She’ll go into toxic shock if she doesn’t get her meds in twelve hours.”

Tony sat up and rubbed his hands together. “Ticking clock! Cool, it’s been a while since we had one of those.”

Fury ignored him. “You should have received the information already. Any ideas?”

Natasha looked at her inbox and opened Fury’s message. Instead of seeing a long list of facts, events, times, maps, and theories, there was one phrase written in beautiful calligraphy:

 

 

_You naughty, naughty girl._

 

 She knew exactly who had highjacked her email. Quickly she sent a response, not to Fury but to Loki.

 

 

_I might say the same thing about you._

 

There was an explosion of laughter from the dark-haired god of mischief across the table. Fury glared and demanded, “Could someone please explain the joke?”

“Certainly,” Loki said. “Agent Romanova just narrowed her SNAKE list to two locations –beating her own record of efficiency, or so I understand. I shall pass them along.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, and a new message popped up in the inbox.

“Wait,” Natasha said. “I didn’t…”

“Don’t be so bashful, Natasha. Your deductions were brilliant. But I think I see the reason to eliminate the final variable; the head of the Clerkenwell Syndicate is addicted to Shawara, and you can’t get it near the first place. So, SNAKE must be located in the final place, the old clockworks factory just outside of Ealing. Well done, Agent!” Loki sat back, still chuckling.

“Wait,” she protested again, but Tony interrupted.

“Ticking clock, remember, Nat? Kid? Meds? So, Jarvis, analyze Natasha’s report. Any anomalies, errors, false deductions?”

“None. Agent Romanova has crafted a seamless argument, and Prisoner Loki has completed the logic. There is a 88.7% chance they are correct, and that the planes do, indeed, reside in the location under Ealing near the clockworks warehouse.”

Despite her misgivings, Natasha found she was interested. “There are some abandoned Tube tunnels there from the second world war, built to withstand the Blitz. It would be worth the trip, to see if …”

“…If you and I are correct and not leading the others down a blind alley,” Loki finished for her.

Clint pushed back his chair with unnecessary force. “I’m taking over from here and getting that kid the hell out of the warehouse. Set me up with a ride, Nick.”

“Already on it… Captain, Banner, I want you both to go with him.”

“What about …?” Clint glanced at Natasha and stopped.

Before she could answer him, a new message came up in her inbox. She opened it and found a long series of code. Quickly she shunted it to an html converter, and the image of a luscious Sakura came up: white cherry blossoms with one sparkle of diamond dew.

Narrowing her eyes, she magnified the dewdrop. Sure enough, there was a tiny reflection in it: a horned helmet. On one horn was written the word ‘Lady?’ and on the other was ‘Or Loki?’”

Tony slapped one hand on the table. “Teaser Shooters, that’s it. You’re welcome. Jarvis, trademark the name and come up with a recipe.”

 

* * *

 

When Loki entered her room without knocking, she growled, “Out. I’m working on getting meds for the sick girl on the plane.”

“I just wanted to see if you made your choice for our next special encounter. Which will it be - Lady or Loki?”

“I’m too busy working on the case to think about your little choice, or anything having to do with you, as a matter of fact.”

“Ah,” he purred, “so you _did_ find my hidden message. I knew you would.”

“Didn’t you hear Stark? Ticking clock.”

He put down his own computer on the table and sat on the couch so close to her that their thighs touched. “I heard. What does it matter? A few human lives, which will end soon in any case…”

She gritted her teeth. “If you mention one word about ledgers, or dripping, or red, I will have Heimdall send you across the Bifrost for a trip up your own butt.”

His tongue peeked out between his teeth as he laughed. “Excellent! Very well, in order to get this obstacle out of my way and return to our very interesting little game, I will help you with this meds problem.” He clicked on Fury’s information file and began to scan it. After a second, he started to type rapidly.

“You can’t just _steal_ the meds, you know,” she reminded him.

“Why not? It would be easy. And fun.”

“Ticking clock. Don’t make me say it again.”

“Well, how about…?”

“No, it won’t work. I already tried that.”

“I would wager I can get the medication the girl needs to her before you can,” he said.

“I doubt it!”

They stared at each other for a moment before they both returned to their laptops to type furiously, interjecting insults at each other as they peeked at each other’s screens.

“That makes no sense, Russian imbecile.”

“Your way makes less sense, Asgardian Ass-Guard.”

Finally he threw his hands up in the air in disgust. “Insurance companies are impossible! I have identified at least three open loops of logic in their communication system.”

Without looking up from her keyboard, she held up one palm towards him. “Lesson one; health companies on Midgard suck.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He was staring at her hand with a puzzled expression.

“You touch your palm to mine as a sign of agreement. Or you can slap it and yell ‘Skin’ if you prefer.”

He hesitated and finally touched his cool palm to hers.

 

* * *

 

After an hour of frustration, Loki found an accommodating chemist in Ealing. Tasha arranged for transport, refrigeration for the delicate drug cocktail, a hired nurse to inject the dose, while he added an ambulance and reservation in a nearby private hospital. “Now,” she added, sitting back and gathering her hair back from her face, “we just have to hope Steve, Bruce, and Clint get there in time.”

“And succeed in suppressing this Clerkenwell Syndicate?”

“I have no doubts about that. As long as make their way into SNAKE headquarters, those Islington buttholes are going down.”

“So confident. What makes you certain?” Loki sat back, folded his arms, and propped his long legs on the coffee table.

“I know my team. And get your feet off my table!”

“Still, anything could happen.” Loki didn’t move his legs.

“What, exactly? Wolves? Crop circles?”

He turned and slid his arm along the back of the couch behind her shoulders. “To be honest, I don’t care. Now we can get back to our far more intriguing situation. Tell me, Agent, which horn will you choose – me or the Lady?”

She bounded up from her seat and kicked the table so his feet fell to the floor. “Thank you for your help, but as we’re finished now, it’s time for you to toddle along.”

He rose obediently, but as they approached the door a letter slid under the frame. He bent, picked it up, and handed the thick envelope to her.

Natasha froze when she saw the stamp.

“Natasha? What is it?” he enquired in a soft voice.

“I think you already know.”

“Mm. Of course I do.” There was a surge of cool breath against her ear as he leaned forward and kissed one cheek, followed by the other. “But you are intelligent and strong enough to withstand it.”

The door closed, and he was gone.

* * *

 

As she ate a quick meal, took a shower, changed, the letter stayed propped up on a pile of books, unopened. Finally she snorted. “This is ridiculous,” she told herself and opened the flap.

A sheaf of about five pages, covered in close writing, was inside, headed “Dearest Aunt Natasha…”

She folded the letter up again and jammed it back into the envelope. As a distraction she reopened her computer, only to find a new message from Loki: another long scroll of code.

Encrypted, it revealed a gif of a long red curl twisting endlessly  to reflect the light from its glossy depths. Natasha sighed and looked for the hidden writing she knew was there somewhere.

The word was hidden at the end of the longest strand: _Well?_

She sat back and considered for a long time. The perfect answer had come to her at once when she first received his Sakura blossom, but at the time she thought it was too childish to play the game.

And now, after an hour of shared endeavor with Loki and the hideous fact of the letter from another Romanova leaning against the book, she was afraid to send her response. It might end the one thing distracting her, she reflected. She had, at that moment, only one thing saving her from the thought of having to confront someone with her own blood, a girl with her face but an entirely different life.

Unfortunately, that one distraction seemed to be flirtation with a demigod from a different world who probably was more than a little insane.

She went to the freezer and poured a glass of the lemon vodka from Tony’s bottle, still considering. At last, she sat down and typed her response, the one word to either completely end the game Loki had somehow dragged her into, or take it to whole new level.

_Jotunn._

 


	5. Drain My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the Jane Eyre obsession creeps in. 
> 
> I'm dedicating this chapter to captain_subtext, who left me the nicest note. Thanks so much!

 

Tony called to tell her there was another meeting in the ‘Oval Office’; she could picture him make air quotes as he said it. Steve, Bruce, and Clint were absent, naturally, when she arrived, but Tony was at the table along with Pepper and Fury.

Loki never appeared.

She told herself his absence was inspired by a lack of interest in the Clerkenwell Syndicate and SNAKE. Regimes rose and fell, after all. Then she told herself to sit up and concentrate. “Team in place?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks to your preplanning. The ambulance was genius.” Fury looked up as Hill came in, handed him a thick sheaf of papers, and swished out again. “We’re going to – yeah, see here? We’re going to double it as a scout and escape vehicle.”

“Without compromising the sick girl?” she asked.

“I think that goes without saying.”

“I feel like male nipples,” Tony said. “You know, superfluous.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t get that. Male nipples can be very important.”

He sat up. “Really! That’s interesting. When the Jello Cliffhangers are served later, let me know how _he_ responds to that. Of course,” he added, holding up his hands, “Not that I know anything. Nothing to see here.”

“Shut up and keep an eye on the surveillance camera,” Pepper said as she handed him a drink.

He took a long swallow. “That’s not a Subtextini,” he complained. “By the way, Nick, there’s movement in the bottom quadrant of camera 221-B.”

“On it,” Natasha said. She enlarged it and started a long series of sweeps, designed to keep the area clean.

Fury spoke into his phone. “Barton, we’re close. Get in, get out, and stick to the nonexplosives.”

“On it,” Clint’s voice replied, echoing Natasha.

 “Shit, they’re on the move!” Fury jabbed one finger at his screen; a series of bustling figures appeared. “Barton, grab me a dozen scalps before they get that kid out the door. And don’t touch the planes!”

“Run a Rio scenario,” Natasha said into Fury’s mike.

“Rio? You sure?” Clint’s voice asked.

“Yes. You can do it.”

“Okay.”

In the camera, she saw his pale face as he gestured two fingers to Steve, signaling a direction. Steve did a double take, shook his head, started in the opposite direction.

“No!” Natasha slammed her hand on the desk in frustration. “They want him to go that way…”

“What’s behind door number one?” Tony asked.

“Hired operatives. They’ll shoot first and think later – you know, a bunch of dumbasses.” Fury shouted into the phone, “Steve, get out of there!”

They watched in horror as Steve stopped and the doors in front of him opened. Several large men and one tiny woman jumped out, brandishing huge rifles. “Widowmakers,” Pepper moaned. “No, no, no, no.”

The crew raised their weapons and started to fire.

Or _not_ fire.

As a group, they pulled the triggers and looked stunned when nothing happened. Not one of their guns, it appeared, had bullets. “Are you kidding me right now?” Nick asked. “None of those guns are loaded! How _did_ this syndicate get those planes in the first place? They’re nothing but a bunch of dumbasses.”

The true beauty of the situation became apparent when one of the big dudes raised his gun and stared into the barrel. It discharged at that very moment, sending a spray of what appeared on the camera as dark grey all over the rest of the crew. A second later the man’s headless corpse fell backwards.

“Aha! They did have bullets after all. Don’t you just hate it when that happens?” Tony leaned back and put one arm around Pepper’s waist.

Fury ignored him. “Steve - _smash.”_

The Captain had already raised his shield to send it, spinning, into the crew of hired guns.

In another camera, Clint was about to bring down a large, heavy-looking individual in front of a group of what seemed to be captives. “Too late now for the Rio scenario. Move cautiously, partner,” Natasha said into her own Jawbone device.

“Don’t get angry just yet, Banner,” Nick cautioned. “We’ve got a lot of innocents there in the room.”

“I know.” Bruce’s tone was mild. “I’m going to go green on their asses when it’s time, though.”

“Go green, love it… oops, finished my drink. Wait, what was that?” Tony jiggled the ice in his glass.

A huge cloud of smoke billowed out from some unseen source, covering all camera screens. Only the bottom quadrant of 221-B was visible. “What the hell is going on?” Fury shouted.

After a long, tense pause, Steve reappeared, carrying a young girl. Her head was bent back, and her arms swung loose by her sides. “Could really use that ambulance,” his voice said in a grim tone.

“Siren One, go,” Natasha said. The ambulance drove up, and several figures got out to help Steve and the girl inside. “Meds are ready – that’s the girl who is sick, right?”

“Right.” A new camera angle appeared on the screen, from inside the emergency vehicle. “And the meds are ready, as you said,” Steve’s voice continued. “Thank you, Natasha.”

“Let’s not French kiss each other just yet,” Nick interrupted. “Where is the rest of the team?”

Steve’s jaw bunched, and Natasha knew he was really angry. “They set off something called the Venom – a kind of mist to obscure our vision. I couldn’t see what happened after. I’ll get this girl to the hospital and make certain she’s safe before I return to take the place down.”

“Okay, this is getting out of hand. Tony, you’re going to need to get in there.” Fury’s voice was low with intensity.

“The evite’s a bit late, but I’m ready.” Tony got up, signaled to Pepper, and they left the room.

Natasha rose to follow them, but Nick held up one finger. “I’m keeping you in reserve here until I know a bit more. As soon as we establish a contact in that SNAKE compound, I’ll send you in to work them over a bit. In the meantime, keep doing your magic – defusing those guns was sweet, by the way.”

“Fury, I have to let you know something. I wasn’t the one who …”

He cut her off. “No time. Act now, talk later. Stay on it, and I’ll give you the signal when we’re ready.”

* * *

 

Jarvis had hooked up monitor surveillance to her room so she could grab a bite and a shower. Watching the camera screens filled with billowing smoke preyed on her nerves after a while, and she wished she had a distraction.

Any distraction.

The one thing able to completely distract her had seemingly disappeared. She wondered if her typed word, _Jotunn,_ had effectively removed Loki from her life. The game between them appeared to be over, and she was the winner. At that moment, however, the thought gave her little satisfaction.

To keep her mind off the smoke, the letter, the Sakura blossoms, and the night visit from the Lady, Natasha cleaned and polished her Widow’s Bite bracelets, the grappling hooks, the belt discs. She made certain the Widow’s Kiss gas was ready to go, and researched a mechanism for localizing the gas, in case prisoners were present when she went into SNAKE.

When everything was sparkling, laid out on her bed, and inspected, she packed them into a heavy bag, adding a change of clothes and an extra pair of boots. With nothing else to do, she translated a few pages of Jane Eyre into Russian, tasting the language as she transcribed it: _“I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.”_

The passage had always tantalized her. She had never experienced that loss of control; her history wouldn’t allow it. Even with Alexei, her emotions had traveled a prescribed route, akin to following a map. As she wrote those words in Russian and read them again, Natasha wondered what it would feel like, to lose one’s head for love. Perhaps it would be terrifying, or simply infuriating. In any case, the person in the situation would feel – alive. Yes, completely, heartbreakingly alive.

A few chapters into the book, she received a message. Tony had arrived in Ealing, and Pepper was monitoring from SHIELD headquarters in London. Natasha longed to be there, to go in with her partner, to deliver her Widow’s Kiss, to take the Syndicate down. And if any of them had dared to lay a finger on Clint, she would …

She thought of Mason’s quote to Mr. Rochester, when he was attacked by what Jane Eyre called a foul Vampyre: _“She sucked the blood; she said she’d drain my heart.”_

As for Prince Loki of Asgard, there was no sign.

 


	6. Angel or Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha confronts Loki's Jotunn form in a very strange, mystical encounter.

 

At last, when her nerves were at screaming point, Natasha crossed the room to the bookshelf and picked up the envelope with the letter again. She opened it and removed the thick packet of papers inside. The vodka in her glass was so cold it felt like syrup in her mouth as she read.

Her only surviving relative knew her name, but according to Clint, she knew nothing else, only that she and Natasha were related by blood. The girl wrote much as Natasha had expected – she lived a perfect life in New Jersey – New Jersey! - with a good job, a large circle of friends, hopes of getting her own apartment. She read, she painted, she wrote poetry.

Her style was intelligent, humorous, and self-deprecatory. Despite the wish to dismiss the girl, Natasha found herself smiling at a few of the phrases – they were close to she would have written herself during her time with Alexei in Russia, like what she could have been, had her false memories of her working as a ballerina been true.

She skipped a few pages and turned to the end, seeing the letter was signed Anzhela. The name meant Angel, or Messenger; there was a certain grim irony to that. Natasha folded the sheets and put them back into the envelope, not certain of her next move as far as the girl went. Would she write back? Reveal a few of her thoughts? Even arrange a meeting? She had no idea. In any case, she couldn’t bear to look at the letter any longer, to have a peek - no matter how short - into a life no longer possible for her.

Her phone beeped. “Romanova,” she said.

“It’s Fury. No action here; we’re still on wait time.”

She sighed. “Very well. Could I have a few minutes to go to the gym, sir? I want to be ready when the moment comes.”

“Sure. You know what to do.”

The phone clicked off. Natasha clipped it to her belt, so Jarvis could contact her the instant news came through. She changed into sparring gear and headed out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

After a few warm-ups, Natasha started in on a heavy series of savate kicks: coup de pied, fouettees, and chassees. She used a bag to practice her open-handed slaps, delivering a punishing series of blows that resounded throughout the huge, empty room.

Bartitsu was a new art for her, and she went through a few moves she had learned, Conducting a Person out of the Room, Assisting a Gentleman off with His Jacket, Overthrowing an Assailant with Your Belt. The techniques were easy enough, and her body moved easily as she segued from one to the next.

When she finished, she wiped her face and neck off with a towel. Her phone, throughout the workout, kept silent. If she went back to her room, she knew she would be faced with the screen captures of smoke clouds, the vodka in the freezer, the letter.

_What the hell._ Natasha removed her shoes and socks, stashed them in her bag, dragged her t-shirt over her head. Under it she wore nothing more than an athletic bra.

Slowly, she pointed her toe and raised her leg to one side. With a feeling of soaring release, she jumped up in the air, pirouetted, went into full grand jete. Her muscles remembered the moves – although the memories were false, she could still dance as though she had actually lived that life. That lie.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Natasha stopped spinning and froze, dropped into attack mode. Who the hell was playing around?

The lights went back on in an instant, and he stood in front of her.

Him.

_And not him._

His skin was blue. Silver lines caressed the edges of his face, his chest, his arms – all left bare. He wore nothing but his leather breeches. And when he looked down at her, his eyes were completely red.

Natasha gasped at the sight, and a quick anger crossed his face. “Do you not like what you see?” he demanded. The voice was his, although more harsh and lower in tone. “You were the one who demanded it, after all. I am only honoring your request; I cannot help my appearance, Agent Romanova.”

Her mind seemed to fill with clouds, smoke, as fuzzy as the screen captures on SNAKE. She shook her head to clear it. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t – I just didn’t expect you to be so…”

“So what?” His tone was a serpent, ready to strike.

“So exquisite.” Of its own accord, her hand reached towards his arm, slim, but bunched with lithe muscles.

He hissed and moved back. “You cannot touch me. If you did, your skin would freeze – bitten, I think you call it on Midgard.”

She nodded. “Frostbite. Don’t worry, I’ll keep enough of a distance. I just want to see…” Her fingers extended towards him again, hovering just over the blue skin.

“Skin,” he said, and he smiled at last.

“Skin.” She couldn’t help allowing a tiny smirk to cross her face. Her hand was the tiniest millimeter away from him – so close to danger, to beauty.

“Natasha.” Her name filled the huge, empty space of the gym in a drawn out whisper.

Cautiously she moved her face close to his, still keeping apart. The tiny distance between them almost magnified the feeling. Absence of touch was more erotic, in that long moment, than touch itself. She felt herself gasp, and he responded to the change instantly, his breath growing ragged and desperate into her ear.

“Hold out your arms,” he panted. “I want to show you something.”

“Don’t turn me into a popsicle,” she retorted. “I’m on a case.”

He tilted his head so he could look down at her with his red eyes. “Hold out your arms, Natasha. I will not say it again.”

The letter.

Anzhela.

Jotunn.

Natasha felt as though she were facing some sort of transformation. It was impossible to stop herself from obeying him; her arms rose to her sides, and she stood in front of him, waiting for his next move, the next distraction.

“Good,” he approved. “And now…” His hands came under her arms, as though he would support her. Still, there was no contact.

She felt a loss of weight, a rising, and as she looked down, she saw the floor recede. Somehow the Jotunn was lifting her up, flying both her and him upwards, floating towards the ceiling of the large space in the gymnasium.

“Oh!” She tipped her head back with delight. “How do you – oh, please don’t stop.”

“I had no intention of stopping. And, Natasha – there is more.”

Snowflakes appeared above them and fell onto her upraised face, her eyelashes, her lips. She looked at him and saw his lips were coated with the white stars, clinging to the icy, blue skin.

“And more.” They started to spin, very slowly, the speed increasing until the world whirled around her.

A tear coursed out of the corner of her eye, heat among the cold snowflakes. “And more,” he whispered again, and the lights grew dim. From everywhere and nowhere a strange series of musical notes emerged, alien and so lovely they were almost disturbing.

She hung, supported just above his firm fingertips, whirling just above his touch. The lack of contact made something flicker at the very core of herself, between her legs – a thumping butterfly beat that increased in rhythm along with the speed of their revolutions.

“Oh,” she gasped, tipping her head back again.

“You do not dare look away! Keep your eyes on me, or I will let you fall. _Look_ at me, Natasha.”

Her gaze locked with his red glare, and their lips parted in a single, shared “Ohhhhhh….” His blue cheek moved next to hers, just out of reach. She slid her head along his neck, a heartbeat away from the dark flesh. It was too beautiful, too intense. The almost-touch, the nearness, the alien nature of the music and the Jotunn just out of reach, combined to make something feel very wet between her loosening thighs. Something was about to happen, she realized with a bolt of fright, something was pulsing and growing up there, at the slick, delicious center of her core, without mercy, without pity, wanting only release and more. And more. _And more._

“I’m going to…” she gasped.

“I am going to…” he growled at the same instant. His gaze wouldn’t let her go, not even when a churning orgasm ripped through her, slamming and rolling inside the Q-Word, in her quim, her clit, in her secret center. And the lack of contact between them freed her, made the sensation spread like lightning to each part of her, so every nerve ending screamed with painful pleasure, and her entire body shook with the release: her nipples, her thighs, her belly, her very fingertips. She could have sworn the curls in her hair felt the pounding sensation. And she could see him shake, knew the same thing was happening to the Jotunn so close and yet so far from her, and they whirled faster and faster together until her head was filled with blue skin, red eyes, and the white, blissful snow.

At last the aching, throbbing pulse of their shared climax slowed, and the music died away. The snow stopped falling, and she sighed as they descended to the floor. 

When her toes touched the wood and marble underneath, she staggered, not able to support herself for a moment on wobbly legs. He jolted as well but quickly grew composed, and their eyes met again in a forbidden gaze. It was as though they were locked together. Unbidden, her satisfaction spread over her face, touching her lips.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” She took a long breath to answer, not really needing his explanation. “It wasn’t a test, if that’s what you mean. I just wanted to see the hidden part, the side that no one else knows.”

He blinked, and a drop of water coursed down his blue cheek, froze just above his lips. “And yet, you smiled at me, just now. Your cheekbones betrayed a flash of amusement – your own secret smile. You never show emotion, Natasha. But when I revealed the monster within me, you allowed me to see your secret smile. Why?”

She looked at him for another long moment. “Beauty,” she said at last. “You were so beautiful.”

“Do you forgive me for the Q Word then?”

Natasha blinked; between the letter from Anzhela, the game with Loki, and the current assignment she had nearly forgotten.

_Slowly, intimately…in every way he knows you fear…_

And she had just shared a slow, intimate moment with the person who had given her that dark promise. Who had killed a good man. Who had stolen two souls, in front of her.

Spinning on her heel, she ran forward and grabbed her shoes. With her hip, she shoved the door open and fled into the corridor.

Ran back to her room.

Stripped off every item of clothing and threw them in the trash.

Grabbed the vodka and took the bottle with her to the shower.

Sat under the water, drinking and shivering until the water ran icy cold down her back.

No one followed her there.

 


	7. Deus ex Machina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout from Natasha's encounter with Jotunn Loki

 

She slept as she always did – lightly, as though treading water. The phone lay next to her, both vibro and ringtone turned up to full volume.However, the call from Fury never came.

When she woke, the first thing she did was to check the check the camera screens. The clouds of smoke had cleared out of the clockworks warehouse, but all screens were empty; none of the Syndicate appeared, nor Clint or Banner. What the hell? Where was the Other Guy? Banner had said he was always angry – obviously, it was time to release the Kraken, as Tony might say.

If she was channeling Stark, it was time to get back to work. Natasha dressed quickly and headed to the meeting room, hoping for coffee and company.

Both, it turned out, were provided. The smell of freshly brewed espresso hit her as soon as she entered, and Loki sat at the table, intent on his laptop screen. Natasha grimaced and tried to back away without him noticing.

“Good day, Agent Romanova.” His tone was polite, formal – almost distant. As usual, he used the correct Russian ending for her surname. Probably he had made the coffee. _What the hell?_

Quickly she analyzed the situation. If she left the room to avoid any conversation with him, she would be acting like a child. If she left and he came after her, she would have to explain why she escaped in an involved, tedious interaction. If she left and he _didn’t_ come after her, she would have to skulk in her room and drink her own shitty coffee.

With a quick nod in his direction, she crossed to the coffeepot, poured a cup of black, fragrant brew, and took it to her seat. One sip nearly made her eyes roll back in her head; it was hot as love, black as sin, and exactly what she needed.

Between the caffeine and Loki’s proximity, her heart thumped in her chest as she sat at the table opposite him and opened her own laptop. He continued to stare at his screen, and after a few minutes she relaxed enough to concentrate on the case.

“Anything?” she asked as Hill entered.

“Nothing. We’re waiting for a breakthrough. Tony arrived there a few minutes ago and is running analysis, so we should get telemetry really soon.”

“Okay.” Natasha drained her coffee and went back to sweeping the camera shots; pixel by pixel, she analyzed and decoded, looking for either patterns or anomalies.

The silence in the room deepened, punctuated only by the sound of Loki’s fingers on his keyboard. Hill looked over his shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“Checking my number of Twitter followers.” He looked up and smiled at her, his dimples popping into view.

Hill sniffed. “That’s a fantastic use of time when… Holy shit! Is that one point two _million_?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is it? I calculated it would one point one by this morning. It seems the ‘News from Tony Stark’s Pants’ meme series I developed was more popular than expected.”

Natasha choked. Hill gave them both a look and left, closing the door reluctantly behind her. Loki continued to concentrate on his laptop, but the dimples stayed in his cheeks.

Sternly, she forced her attention back to the pixels, searching for movement, a sign, anything that would show her Clint was still alive.

“If I may,” Loki said, “Try the top octave from camera 3927.”

She jerked her head up. “What?” She snorted. “‘Checking Twitter followers’, my ass.” Quickly she flipped to the view from 3927. It showed nothing but a sink in a restroom.

“No,” he continued. “The mirror.”

Her mouth opened, and she scrolled in. There was a reflection in the mirror, two dark shapes that moved a bit, grew still.

“I said goddamm! Goddamm, goddamm,” she murmured. It was the work of moments to rewind the camera and zero in on the shapes, to enhance them as much as possible. Two people – possibly a woman and a man. It was difficult to tell.

“Fury, get in here!” she yelled into the phone.

“If you like, you may use a program I wrote – adds detail and sharpens the images with computer graphics, all within a 94.9% probability of actuality. I shall send it to you now.” Loki hit a key, and her inbox pinged.

Fearing another suggestive, message-laden graphic, Natasha opened the message. Instead, it was blank, with an attachment leading to a program. She hovered her mouse over it and looked up. “Is this going to hypnotize the world if I click on it?”

His dimples deepened. “No, I’ve already accomplished that goal, on Tumblr at least. Now there – you see? Your cheekbones and lips are giving me the secret smile I mentioned yesterday. It is thoroughly intoxicating…”

Fury burst into the room. “Could someone please explain what is going on?”

Natasha forgot the message and the cheekbones. “Nick, there’s been movement – here, in this image. I request immediate transport to SNAKE.”

He bent over her and squinted. “Those two dark blobs? Agent Romanoff…”

“Romanova…” Loki murmured.

“Agent, do not waste my time with say-so and shadows. I am not in the mood. I’ve got two other agents gone MIA, and I’m about to tell Stark to go postal on that syndicate’s ass.”

Natasha was about to argue, when Loki interrupted again. “Run the program, Natasha,” he suggested. “It is ready to latch onto the image.”

Biting back her anger, she double-clicked the program he sent. Instantly the dark blobs reflected in the mirror resolved into two visible figures, one woman and a man.

“I’ll – be – damned.” Nick leaned closer to the screen. “Can you zoom in any closer?”

“Of course. Use the target feature, Agent Romanova.” Loki continued to smile at her.

Natasha clicked the target icon, and the visual sprang into sharp relief. The woman had her back to the camera, but the man’s face was visible – her partner, Clint Barton. He seemed to be talking to the female, trying to calm her down. “Who is the woman?” Natasha wondered.

Loki rose and strolled around the table to join Nick, looking over her shoulder. “She is going to turn to face us – and _now_.”

It was difficult to not be annoyed when the woman did exactly what the god of mischief predicted. She turned and looked up at the camera. Loki murmured a polite apology and reached around Natasha’s shoulder to click something marked “Capture.”

The shot froze, revealing the two faces. Clint stood with his usual grim, determined expression. And next to him was the image of Natasha, with long blond hair framing her face.

“What the hell?” Fury repeated. He jabbed a finger at Loki. “ _You_ came up with this program? And who is the – Agent Romanoff, how is your double inside SNAKE?”

Natasha ignored the second question. “Loki engineered the location pinpoint as well a few days ago; I’ve been trying to tell you. Plus I’m pretty sure that when the guns for the hired operatives at SNAKE wouldn’t fire, it was thanks to him. As for my double, believe it or not, that is my niece. She was on her way to visit me when her plane got taken down.”

“Is that right? Hm.” Fury stood, turning down the corners of his mouth in thought. “Sounds a little too coincidental for my liking.”

“May I leave now for Ealing?” Natasha nudged his elbow.

“Yeahhhh, I guess so. Time to drop the other shoe.”

“May I join her?” Loki asked. He leaned on the table close to Natasha and raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence.

Fury had started for the door, but he turned in astonishment. “You? I don’t _think_ so. One, you’re a prisoner, Two, you may not have your own brand of pixie dust any longer but you do have that lying, cheating mouth of yours and Three, my mother did not raise any fools. I don’t care how many programs you write or Twitter followers you have, you’ll get back to your quarters and stay there until I have every last agent back at Stark Towers.” He left and slammed the door behind him.

Loki made a small, noncommittal noise in his throat. “As I expected. It appears you are on your own, Agent Romanova.” She dipped her head in response and rose, but he strode to the door and put one hand on it, blocking her exit. “Hold one moment. Do you really think it is the relative you told me about standing next to the archer, in the mirror just now?”

She backed up a step. “I’m trying not to go all Deus ex Machina, but I have the feeling it might be Anzhela. Who else could it be?”

“Anzhela. She is the woman in the picture? The one I saw in your rooms?”

She couldn’t help blushing, remembering the circumstances. “Yes. So, this just became even more personal.”

“Did it?”

“Yes. I know you have your own family issues… and where _is_ Thor, anyway?”

He sighed. “I would imagine he’s torturing that scientist with his presence, wouldn’t you? Perhaps offering her another trip to Asgard. In any case, he is not here.”

“Hm.”

“Why, did you feel the need for his huge hammer?” His eyes narrowed.

“No, I’ve been doing just fine with _you_ around, actually, but don’t let it go to your horned head. Make certain you stay on the case, even though Fury won’t let you accompany me.”

At that, he laughed, stood back, and opened the door for her. With a full smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, he added as she passed him, “You can be certain of that.”

 


	8. The Other Guy

 

Stark Towers seemed a quieter, more restrictive place once Agent Romanova left. Loki was tempted to visit her one final time, perhaps to steal a kiss or see if he could tempt her secret smile again, but he resisted the impulse; he thought a period of forced absence might force her miss him and thus would make getting into her bed more likely.

Instead, he lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There were several things he didn’t understand.

First, why had he allowed her to leave at all? They were in the middle of their little game, and he had been surprised to find how very interesting a diversion it was. He could have concocted a thousand excuses, created several illusions, spread a myriad of lies to keep her at his side. So why had he not done that?

Second, the time period he had calculated for the affair with Agent Romanova had now extended beyond days. Beyond years. In fact, he wondered if her mortal lifetime would be enough to explore all the variations and refractions he saw within her sparkling personality. When was the last time he had been so intrigued by anyone, let alone a mortal?

Third, what about the relative of hers, the girl called Anzhela? This thought led to an entirely new set of questions. Dr. Banner dealt daily with what he termed “The Other Guy.” Loki, in his turn, also dealt with “the other guy” – his own quixotic nature.

And his brother. He was the light version of Loki’s dark soul.

And now, since Natasha had discovered the existence of her own relative – Anzhela - _she_ had “the other” – a reflection of herself to confront. It would give her a slice of insight into his point of view. He recalled the screen capture of Anzhela with the archer. When it popped up, the Black Widow had handled herself with elegance, he mused, not betraying her emotions at seeing her doppelganger, a female with her own face.

And of course there was also her own dark half – Natasha’s ledger, dripping with red. The part of her called Black Widow. It made her complicated, different, fascinating. Difficult to understand, simple to understand.

Both, at once.

With a sudden oath, he pushed himself up and off the bed in one fluid motion. What was he doing, mooning after a mortal female like some infatuated boy? By the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil! He would have her properly, tongue to tongue, skin to skin, in his bed by the week’s end. Once he had tumbled her in his current or female form, he did not mind which as long as it happened and soon, he would be able to shake the grip she had on him and forget her.

The road forward shone like a beacon. There were at least several ways to make it happen, but he instantly selected the most likely one to secure the Widow’s seduction.

He propped open his laptop, ignoring the thousands of Twitter DM’s and the friend requests that had collected in the last few hours. She would be on the flying jet, heading to that realm of the city called London, a forsaken place known as “Ealing.” Still, she would receive his message.

He typed, presenting his texts in the manner he knew she would find intriguing, timed them to arrive at certain intervals, and hit Send.

His good mood regained, he tilted his head back and laughed. Soon, Operation Black Widow would be under his control again. And when she was …

There was another possibility, of course, one he had played out in different variations several times over the centuries. It involved wooing a woman to his bed, and when he had the object of his pursuit trembling and aching for his touch, he calmly arose from the bed, got dressed and told her he changed his mind. He had rejected one haughty countess and several goddesses thus; the looks on their faces, their pleas for explanation at the final denial were priceless. It was like dancing on a knife’s edge, at the brink of madness – Loki found it destructive and fascinating at the same time.

It was difficult to Natasha in the same position. She was so strong, so vital – if he kissed and fondled her until she was close to coming undone and left her just before her sweet explosion, she would probably hold him up at gunpoint. It might be interesting to find out.

Of course, it would be the end. She would never forgive anyone who brought her down in that manner. It would be the end of his bright, twisting tunnel, no further exploration of her personality, her beauty, bravery, and intelligence.

It would be fascinating to discover which he would do in the end, when it happened.

 

* * *

 

The shuddering release he had experienced as Jotunn with Natasha allowed him to sleep easily the night before, with only a few dreams of red curls and eyes meeting his in a blue flash. However, after another day the effect waned, and just thinking about the Russian woman and their encounter made his sex rampant and swollen as he climbed between the sheets. Briefly he considered overcoming the Stark Tower guards to head out to a local drinking taproom and acquire several partners for a few hours of bed play.

And that was number Four. Why did he reject the notion so quickly? Running his hands through his black hair, he tried again to order his frantic, swirling thoughts:

One – He allowed her to leave his side.

Two – The affair had become far more complex than he had ever imagined.

Three – Both he and Natasha had their dark sides and recognized it in each other.

And Four – and this was the most perplexing – for some unknown reason he didn’t want to do something she wouldn’t like, would consider ridiculous and demeaning, _even if_ she would never discover it.

Why was that?

He swore again, picked up the glass of wine next to his bed, prepared to smash it against the wall.

No, she wouldn’t like that.

He replaced the glass and crossed to the computer, thinking he might get some relief from the sex sites that seemed to swarm the realm known as Internets.

No, she wouldn’t admire that either. Besides, Jarvis probably monitored all computer activity, and Loki’s life could be truly hideous if the Stark fellow discovered a list of porn visits on his history.

He expelled a long, ragged sigh and decided instead to reexamine the entire Clerkenwell Syndicate case folder. He opened and studied the plans for the clockworks warehouse hideout in the village known as Ealing until he knew them inside and out, could pinpoint where hidden tunnels and secret rooms now existed, off the known perimeters.

There was something not quite right, though; he could feel it. He had the idea that the theory of the tunnels being used as part of SNAKE was correct, but when he tried to connect the above-ground site – an old warehouse used to store watch parts – with the WWII tunnels underground, it didn’t make sense. Something prickled at the back of his neck, a small voice whispering _Danger!_ The whisper rose in volume when he reexamined the screen shot taken just before the smoke appeared throughout SNAKE. A small, white rectangle of paper lay crumpled in one corner. Loki knew he recognized it, but from where?

Setting the blueprints and screenshots aside, he delved into the background of every single syndicate member. He researched each crime they had committed, made a list of their pitiful, human priorities. They were all simple people, driven by greed for money; he knew he could take them all down in an instant.

So how had they subdued Banner? That also did not make sense.

Setting aside those questions for the moment, he ensured the young girl, the one who needed the medical treatment, was taken care of in the hospital with every luxury, every form of resource available through the foul labyrinth known as the Health Insurance System. When he was told No and put on a waiting list twice, his impatience overwhelmed him.

A quick Internet search revealed a Nigerian human sex slave trafficking outfit ripe for the plucking. Loki shut it down with a few simple programs and calmly harvested the money held in the group’s offshore accounts for his own use. With that he was able to bypass the Insurance idiots and buy the best assistance available for the sick girl; it was amazing what could be accomplished on Midgard with an ample amount of funds.

He prepared several safeguards, ready for when Natasha arrived to take down the Syndicate.

At last he stopped typing and put his head in his hands. Why had he done all of that, for a group of mortals who meant nothing to him, for an unknown girl about to die without his assistance?

Because. Because Natasha would admire it.

 

* * *

 

After a few hours of twisting, tortured sleep, Loki again abandoned the attempt and went to take a shower. He found it was somewhat soothing, if mundane, to stand under the cascade of water, sluicing the dreams from his skin.

_Skin,_ she had told him, holding her palm close to his.

He bit back a howl of frustration and toweled off, dressed in Midgardian clothes, and left the rooms to search for food as a diversion. The silence he had noted after her departure increased in the hallways, lined with soft lights and intermittent elevators. He punched the button on one and rode it to the place called a “cafeteria,” a resource to provide meals.

Moodily, he selected a few plates of sustenance and took them to a table. He had his laptop with him, and as he tried a few bites of a concoction called ‘omelet’ (not bad, he noted) he watched the cameras trained on the interiors in SNAKE.

There was no movement. Even the figures of the archer and Anzhela in the mirror had disappeared. For the fifth time, he tried to reconcile the floor plans to the views in the cameras and the tunnels underneath but could not.

He heard a door open, but it did not register until a large man sat opposite him with a broad grin. “Brother!” Thor cried in surprise. “You are eating – food!”

“It happens.” Loki tried to ignore him and concentrate on the screen, but Thor persisted.

“What is this yellow stuff?”

“It is called ‘omelet’. I have tasted worse.”

“Ah, yes – Lady Jane ordered a plate of Omelet in a tavern called Diner. Delicious! Midgard food is tasty. I like it.”

“Be off. I am engaged in …” Loki waved the screen.

Thor interrupted him, his face becoming mournful. “We argued, by the by. She refused a necklace I brought to her from Asgard, said it was too valuable. She added I was ‘rushing things’ and ‘going too fast’. Said we needed to ‘figure it all out’ and make certain we were ‘right for each other’.” The God of Thunder punctuated his confession with a long, drawn-out breath. “These women from Midgard are fascinating, but they are difficult to comprehend at times.”

Loki felt his jaw drop to hear his own thoughts voiced by his idiotic brother. “Yes! I chose to fornicate with Nat - with one of them, and she refused me in no uncertain terms. This _after_ I mentioned that I was very skilled in bed.”

Thor seemed too absorbed by his own reflections to listen. “It is very simple. I offer a large diadem to the maiden I have chosen, she accepts…”

“I would make certain to pleasure her thoroughly first…” Loki had his own considerations.

“…We plunder a few villages for wine and a sweet-voiced bard…”

 “It is not as though I am a young stripling, intent only on my own release…”

“…Next thing you know – we are all dancing and drinking at my wedding...” Thor drummed his fingers on the table.

“In any case, I have no idea why she still captivates my thoughts…” Loki mused.

“After all, what else is there to consider, beyond gowns for the maiden?” Thor’s eyes narrowed, and with Loki’s fork he shoveled an avalanche-sized helping of omelet into his mouth.

“My omelet!” Loki came back to his senses. “I am too busy and have no time to waste on discussions of bards and diadems with you.”

“Busy?” Thor swiftly rose and moved behind Loki’s chair to peer at the screen. “What has been happening in my absence?”

Loki shifted as far away from his brother as he could. “Nothing to concern yourself with…”

“Loki, this looks like an adventure!” Thor’s eyes sparkled. “I will tell the man called Fury to send me into the action at once.”

“But this is completely unjust! I have to stay here eating omelet and picking away at this intelligence device, while you waltz into the action without so much as a by your leave.”

Thor was already striding towards the door, but at that he stopped. “Would you prefer I stay here with you for company instead?”

Loki was about to make a biting, sarcastic retort when a new possibility opened in front of him, shimmering with novelty and entertainment. “No,” he replied slowly. “No, I think you should do exactly as you mentioned. Go and speak to the man called Fury, but do come and say good-bye to me before you go.”

A huge smile spread across Thor’s face, and he threw open his long arms. “I am overjoyed I returned here!” he bellowed. “I was - you could almost say - _sad!_ But no longer.”

Loki effectively ducked the hug. As Thor left, a wicked grin pulled up both corners of his mouth.

 


	9. Peak Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos! I send all my readers Loki kisses and lovebites.

 

Descending from the Quinjet, Natasha felt the vibration of her phone against her thigh. She picked it up and frowned when she saw there were several messages from Loki.

She was about to delete them and send him a sharp text to leave her alone while she was on the case, but the thought crossed her mind that he might have uncovered new information, since he had turned out to be such a genius with computers. As her finger hovered over the inbox, she was interrupted by Pepper’s voice.

“Welcome, Agent. I have a car here to take you to the temporary local HQ – Tony’s already there. At least” she added, “I _think_ he is. I told him he had to wait until you arrived …”

“To storm the castle?” Natasha was amused. “I would imagine…”

Pepper laughed, a rueful sound. “I know, he’s probably already inside the clockworks warehouse. Well, you might as well come with me to make your final preps, get the last orders from Nick, maybe grab a bite before you head to SNAKE.”

The car slid silently through dark streets, deserted except for a few stragglers. Perhaps they were coming home from a late job or heading to friends’ houses – living normal lives.

“Are we certain this is the right place?” Natasha scrolled through her texts. There was nothing yet from Fury.

“There are two agents missing. The only ones who have emerged were Steve and Anna.”

“Anna? She’s the little girl who is sick?”

“Yes, she’s safe in hospital now. A group of certified guards showed up to protect her quarters, as well as an army of private staff. I double-checked their references – triple-checked, actually. They were completely clean.”

“Really!” Natasha was surprised. “Where did they come from?” A whisper echoed in her mind, the ghost of a mocking laugh, and she shook her head. “Never mind, I think I already know. So, Steve is freed up to go back inside the warehouse then? Good. Makes things easier.”

“Do you need anything in particular?” Pepper picked up her own phone.

Natasha shook her head and opened the first message from Loki: “Much more to Syndicate than you or anyone thought. Wait for my word.” The others were much the same, spaced out over the period of several hours: “Take great care, Agent Romanova’, ‘Do not put yourself in the way of danger recklessly’, and an exasperated “Stop being stubborn. Listen to me for once!’ Only the final one was different. ‘Since you _are_ going to disobey me, I must tell you I can always find you in the mirror.’

As though he were one to talk about being reckless! Still, it was interesting – and perhaps a bit intimidating as well – that he had considered her own safety for as long as a few hours.

Natasha recrossed her legs, annoyed with herself. She was the renowned Black Widow, famous for bringing men (and sometimes women) to their knees. Her skill set had driven more than one high-powered executive and several statesmen to propose, to offer her diamonds, money, houses, fast cars. Her standard process was to use them before coldly casting them aside when she got what she wanted. Why was she wasting her time now, then, in thinking about a mischievous demigod who was, all told, nothing more than a common criminal?

She made up her mind. “You know, I think I’m going to forego the meal and HQ. Instead, I’ll follow Tony in now and sniff around the place – see what I can discover.” She turned her phone off and clipped it to her belt.

Pepper looked up, her eyes widening. “Are you certain? To tell you the truth, I’m really worried. If Banner hasn’t reappeared, something is strange is going on in there.”

“Clint is okay though - I saw footage of him with a hostage. As long as I find him and we work together, I’ll be okay.”

“Right, your PIC.” Pepper directed a few curt words into the phone, cancelling an order of takeaway. Her hand dropped, and she leaned forward. “Natasha, we don’t know each other very well, but do be on your guard, please. And if you see Tony, well, tell him not to be too much of an ass.”

“And order water to stop being wet?” The car glided to a halt, and Natasha looked around. “Anything else?”

Pepper brought up a night vision screen. It revealed the empty warehouse fronting, theoretically, the SNAKE ops. “I don’t know about this…”

Natasha nodded. “Don’t worry. Be back before you know it.”

 

* * *

 

The interior of the warehouse lay in shadows. She looked at the floor, assessing which boards would squeak when she walked on them and plotted a course to a shadowy stairwell in the opposite corner.

Moving like a panther on the prowl, she made it to the stairs. There, a larger shadow enveloped her. “Nat,” someone whispered into her earpiece.

Tony. She sketched him a salute and whispered, “Where’s the suit?”

“Dry cleaners. Last time I trust them with my stuff.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing yet.” His light tone disappeared, and he pointed to the stairs leading down into what looked like the belly of Hell itself, if the underworld were a black carpet of abandoned horror. “Something’s up, though – it just doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s exactly what Pepper just told me. And so did – well, never mind. Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Wait!” He put one hand on her arm. “Don’t you want to wait for Stubing?”

“I’m right here,” someone whispered. Steve stepped into the stairwell, hood down, holding his shield. “Stubing, as in Captain. You refer to The Love Boat – after you mentioned activity director Julie during our last mission, I researched it. And I have to conclude the cinematic arts went drastically downhill in the early eighties.”

“Can’t argue with you there. ‘Kay, time to do a JK sequel and find the secret chamber.” Tony started down the steps, but Natasha reached for him.

“You don’t have your suit! At least let me go first. You can maybe cover my ass or keep Jarvis notified or something,” Natasha argued.

He considered. “Hm. That covering your ass thing could be okay…”

“I’ll go first,” Steve said firmly. “Tony, you follow to keep us hooked up to Jarvis, and Natasha will bring up the rear.” He didn’t wait to see if they listened but pushed ahead and continued the descent.

The stairs were rickety underfoot, and they swayed as the three of them crept down. Natasha went sideways so she could cover their backs, feeling with her feet and a special sense she employed during the height of a chase, what Clint sometimes called her “prickle.” He told her once, after she had routed out a group of hidden drug runners, to always trust her instincts and the hair on the back of her neck.

Those hairs were fully alert. She felt there was something below them, something big - something different, something they had never encountered before.

She felt a bolt of fright, followed by calm reassurance in her own abilities when they heard a sudden unearthly howl from below. The scream was succeeded by a garble of excited voices and a series of loud, panicked footsteps. The voice sounded like it came from a grown man, although he seemed to be jabbering with horror.

The steps headed for the stairs where Steve, Tony, and Natasha had stopped, frozen. A large man appeared below them, sweat greased over his broad face.

When he saw Steve he screamed again and waved a gun with one shaking hand. “Bluds’re peak ghost!” he shouted. “T’bookiest, greeziest, duttiest swag I’ve ever…” Another scream came from below, cut off suddenly with a meaty, gristly thump. “Shite shanked!” the man shouted and pushed past them on the stairs to run out into the street.

Tony sighed, took out his phone. “We’ve got company. Jarvis, one of our friends needs a taxi. Could you assist him please?”

“Done,” Jarvis’s voice replied. “I have back-up ready.”

“What the hell was that all about? Did you pick up any of what the ruffian said?” Steve’s mouth hung open.

“That, my retro friend, was no Love Boat. I believe the good man’s comment meant, ‘My companions have been taken with the nastiest piece of voo-doo it has ever been my ill-fortune to encounter, etc etc.’ It’s a rough translation, so don’t quote me.” Tony put away his phone.

“I have a really bad feeling about this.” Natasha peered into the darkness below them.

“OK, Princess Leia, thanks for that. What’s our next step?”

Steve and Natasha looked at each other. “Clint is down there,” she said finally. “Plus, my last surviving blood relative might be with him as well. I’m not standing here all night – I can tell you that much.”

Steve nodded and started to descend again, but delight suffused Tony’s face. “Blood relative? Really? Nothing like a little Kir Deus ex Machina Royale with your brunch…”

She prodded him in the back with her pistol. “Go on. And, I _knew_ you would bring up Deus ex Machina. And, you’re welcome for the joke inspiration for the next three weeks.”

“Getting predictable, am I? Bad. Very bad. I’ll be Oxidation Man next.”

She prodded him again, and they continued behind Steve.

 

* * *

 

A long trail of blood greeted them at the foot of the stairs. Steve’s mouth grew very grim as he followed it.

The red trail led to a door, shut tight. The source of the blood became apparent; one severed arm lay on the floor, its palm turned up to the ceiling as though in mute supplication. Between the two first fingers of the hand lay a piece of paper, dotted with age and ancient writing; it seemed the owner had clasped it tightly before something huge and merciless tore off his arm.

“You might not want to look, ma’am,” Steve said.

“I am _not_ going to faint, for crying out loud - I saw worse things when I was twelve.” Natasha prodded the door with one booted toe. “Is this locked?”

“Probably.”

Tony was wrong, however; the metal door swung open with a loud squeak. The space beyond it was completely dark.

“Lights, Jarvis,” Tony said. A long white beam shot out from his phone and sliced through the dark like a scalpel.

The beam lit on something white, veered away. “Wait!” Steve and Natasha said at the same time.

“What was that?” She put her hand over Tony’s and tilted the phone’s beam of light.

It revealed the figure of Dr. Bruce Banner. The man was in stasis, frozen mid-change. One shoulder bulged with green muscles, bursting through his shirtsleeve. It was still Bruce’s face, though - he wore an expression of horror, but whether it was at his own traitorous body or not being able to move, it was impossible to tell.

Bruce stood, completely still, in a niche surrounded by a green glow, under a sign tacked up with a staple gun: “Hulk.”

“Okay, explains a lot – _not_ ,” Tony began.

“Wait.” Natasha, her hand still covering his, moved the light beam slowly to the left so they could see the rest of the room. There were five more niches, as yet empty, each with its own tacked up sign: “Captain America. Hawkeye. Iron Man. Thor. Black Widow.”

There was a long silence, broken at last by Tony. “Well, that sucks.”

 


	10. The Alignment of the Planets

 

“How do you plan to travel to this accursed spot known as SNAKE?” Loki adjusted the collar of his shirt, held up a scarf, rejected it, and selected another.

“Mjolnir, of course. I will open a time tunnel to the palace in Asgard and return from there to the village known as Ealing.” Thor picked up a leg of lamb in one fist and took a huge bite. “Once I arrive, my thunder will crash down the walls of this accursed SNAKE and expose them to the light of the sun; it is difficult, as you know, brother, to conduct villainy in broad daylight.”

“Ah, but that is what makes it so much more fun.” A look of glee suffused Loki’s face, followed by one of sorrow. “I cannot believe you are able to fly in and out with ease, while I have to stay here in this tower gathering dust.” He shot his brother a pitiful glance, taking care the god of Thunder should see his chagrin.

Thor waved the mutton in his fist and clasped Loki’s shoulder. “Do not fret! Already, in a few short days, I have seen such changes in you – a general melting of your icy exterior, an air of something like contentment. I am certain if this continues our father will consent to lessening your sentence.”

A thousand retorts leapt to Loki’s tongue: _You would never understand, you tool belt-wielding brute, He is not my father, I certainly am not melting, There is no need for change in the first place…_ His usual excuses, complaints, rants ran through his head.

He opened his mouth to voice the first, and Thor flinched as though he knew what would follow. Another thought crossed Loki’s mind, the very first of its kind. He had shouted those things and much worse again and again; so often, in fact, he had started to become a bore to everyone, including himself.

Was it Thor’s silent resignation to his complaints that made him suddenly see what was often expressed as ‘reason’? Or did he simply want things to go quickly and as well as possible for the Black Widow, so she could return to the Tower and take up their interesting game again? Perhaps it didn’t matter; maybe he could find another outlet – this one time – for his anger.

He made his decision. Buttoning his cuffs, Loki sat in front of his computer. “The palace is not a good choice,” he noted. “The current position of Midgard along the roots of Yggdrasil would make Skornheim a better target, in the hamlet of Lanadu, to be precise.”

Thor’s mouth fell open, but whether from astonishment or sheer witlessness it was impossible to tell. “Is this true?” he asked at last.

Loki nodded. “Look at this chart. If you use this computing realm known as Fourmilab, it shows you the current alignment of the planets. I have added a filter to portray Yggdrasil and the Nine realms on top of these ‘scientific’ images so you may compare the two. And you are dropping lamb all over my carpet,” he added.

“You did this?” Thor had been in the middle of another bite, but he put down what he termed his ‘snack’ and crowded next to Loki. “By the bridle of Sleipnir, these computing visions are indeed marvels! My own Lady Jane herself would tremble to behold them… if she forgave me first, that is.”

“Actually, I must admit I hacked into her computer to get most of the information.” Loki grinned at the memory.

“Hacked? You used an axe?”

“No, I – Damn it, Thor, leave my keyboard alone with your greasy fingers. You might say I stole her research.”

Thor shot up from his seat, brows twitching over his eyes. “What?” he thundered. “The Lady finds knowledge to be her most precious possession! Loki, I insist you must bring it back at once, or I shall deliver you to the dwarves myself, to have your lips sewn together again… What is it?”

Loki had closed his eyes wearily. “Listen to me. I only _used_ the information – she still owns it, intact. And besides that, once you rescue your friends with your mighty hammer there, you may present this enhanced program to your ‘Lady’ with my regards. I am certain she will be interested in the correlation between the realms …”

“Yes!” Thor sat again, seized Loki, and crushed him into a suffocating embrace. “It would be the perfect start to initiate another conversation between us. I cannot sleep for remembering the smell of her skin and the way she used to smile at me. Thank you, brother!”

Brushing himself off, Loki escaped another hug. With a sidelong glance, he added, “I do not suppose your gratitude would lead you to secure my passage to the SNAKE location?”

Thor’s smile faded. “No. Alas, I cannot do that. I promised our Father I would make certain I keep an eye on you at all times, and by the Gods, I intend to keep my vow.”

Loki’s felt his lips curve in a triumphant grin as the conversation reached the perfect conclusion, the one he had intended all along. “By all means,” he murmured. “You absolutely _must_ keep your promise.”

“The alignment of the planets, eh?” Thor took another bite, chewed, and swallowed, his eyebrows twitched together. He put his lamb down, wiped his hands on a napkin the size of a sheet, and reclined back on the cushions with a sigh. “I must tell you, I never believed in such things until I met my lady. Tell me, Loki, do you believe in true love? We are told tales of star-crossed lovers by the bards, and I always scoffed at such things – sagas of battle and mighty deeds were more my fare. But now, I begin to see there is some truth to it.”

"I…" For once in his life, Loki had no idea what to respond. Although he had once loved his handsome, dashing, much-admired older brother, he often dismissed Thor as a lout who interrupted his carefully planned tricks and schemes with annoying insistence on honor and pride. The two of them had clashed many times; opposites in every way, their tutors openly admired Thor and ignored the younger, dark-haired prince when they were boys. Although Loki always knew the answer to their questions first, his way of thinking was so different from the Aesir that many of his teachers couldn't comprehend his responses. Only in the study of magic had he excelled, and that was now taken away from him.

However, this was the second time the “lout” had nearly read his mind; Thor seemed to drive straight to the heart of a conundrum Loki didn’t even want to pose to himself. What if, after all the centuries he had been alive, after all the schemes to woo beautiful maidens and lovely goddesses to his bed for a night, after his disastrous marriage to Angrboda, the heartbreak of discovering his true identity, the failure to win control of Asgard, Jotunheim, and Midgard – what if now he discovered something pure that made everything else seem silly and – and puny?

Purity. Love. Those concepts were so foreign to him he could hardly grasp their meaning, and yet now the only thing that consumed him was the desire to see a mop of red curls, the blue flash of a determined gaze, Natasha’s secret smile.

“What are you thinking on?” Thor’s voice was gentle.

Loki shook his head. “Nothing that concerns you. If you do insist on flying into the fray, you had best be off at once, before the realms shift out of the positions I have given you.”

“Yes. I shall go and prepare. Until we meet again, then, brother.” Thor grappled with the door, wrest it open, and strode down the hall.

Left behind, Loki counted to _tuttugo ok ein_ before slipping after him. 


	11. Hello, Darling

“Where the hell is Clint?” Natasha had a flashlight under her arm, and by its beam she was able to search the strange room with its empty niches and one full plinth.

“Ugh.” Tony shuddered when she flashed the light on Banner once more. “He looks so tortured.”

“Yeah.” Natasha understood what he meant before he even said it. She lowered the beam and tried not to think of Bruce, mid-change, caught in the moment of leaving behind the human part as the doctor’s dark half, the Other Guy, wrestled its way out. It was something she could understand – a concept she tried to keep hidden even from herself. And when it was exposed, like now, or when Loki had forced her to see herself for what she truly was during that first interrogation on the helicarrier - that was when the horrors _truly_ took over.

To keep her mind off Bruce caught in the niche by an unknown power, she swept the beam of her light over the floor and was rewarded by something small and white caught under one wall.

“Take a look at that,” she said in the dispassionate tone she used during a mission.

Tony turned from examining his own empty niche and knelt down to have a look. “Paper,” he said, “just like the parchment in that hacked-off arm we found before. Ewww, and I just grossed myself out again. So, someone dropped his hall pass, but how did it get under the rock? The wall is seamless.”

“Can we get him out of there?” Steve ignored the paper and strode to the niche to try to reach Bruce. An unseen force surrounding the space stopped his hand, however.

“Shocker,” Tony noted. “Impenetrable green glow, mysterious force. Must be Tuesday.”

A sudden bolt of thunder shook the building, and a few flecks of plaster dropped from the ceiling onto Natasha’s face. “No forecast for rain,” she said.

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, our friend from Asgard is about to join us,” Steve guessed. He knelt next to Tony and looked at the paper. “I think you’re right – the wall has no opening. Still, there has to be a way to get under there. Look, there’s dust under the paper, but none on top…”

“Can’t have been there for long,” Tony finished for him. He brushed off his knees with a look of distaste. “You’re right about the dust. My status as a metrosexual is seriously compromised.”

“How are we going to get through to investigate? My guess is the syndicate or something worse is back there.” Natasha indicated the solid wall.

In response, Tony stood aside. “Captain, will you do the honors?”

“My pleasure,” Steve replied in a grim tone. “Please stand back, ma’am.” He lifted his shield overhead and sent it, spinning, into the wall.

The rock shuddered. At the same moment, there was another long rumble of thunder, followed by a loud crash. The combination of the shield’s force and the thunder caused the wall to buckle, followed by a web of cracks that mapped quickly from its center.

“Is this load-bearing?” Natasha pointed to the wall and turned to Tony.

“I think it should be okay…” He flashed his phone along the support columns of the cellar room they were in and took a few snaps with his smart phone, presumably to send to Jarvis.

“I hope so – looks like this structure is about to be compromised,” Steve cautioned.

“I’ll translate,” Tony said to Natasha. “Cap means a _big_ smash.” His words were cut off as the cracks spread. There was a loud groan, and the wall did, indeed explode, sending debris flying.

Natasha felt a large body seize her. She was too busy trying to keep her eyes covered to complain as two heavily muscled arms wrapped around her. When the noise of the roof fall finally stopped, she saw she was in Steve’s arms, and his head bent protectively over hers.

“You never hold me like that, Captain,” Tony complained. He shook himself, sending a white cloud cascading off his hair and clothes. “Don’t you care about me any longer? Didn’t I tell ‘I love you’ enough?”

With a pat on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha freed herself. She was about to add her thanks, but a strangled curse from behind the ruined wall stopped her.

Clint and Anzhela stood in a space revealed by the wreckage. He had one arm around the shoulders of the blond girl, but when he saw Natasha he hurriedly let go and hopped away. “Hey there, guys,” he said in a strained voice. “Man, are we both glad to see you! You betcha!”

“Awkward,” Tony sang.

Another crash reverberated behind them along with a long strum of thunder. Thor, kneeling in place with Mjolnir, appeared in the center of the floor. After a moment he rose, swinging the hair out of his face.

When he saw Natasha, Steve, Tony, and Clint, an expression of joy came into his eyes. “My friends!” he bellowed. “Loki was right. It worked, and we are together again at last… but why, Man of Iron, is your hair covered with white substance?”

Tony ignored the question. “Um, I don’t want to appear insensitive, Greyskull, but is that a wind-up toy in your pants, or are you just glad to see me?”

Thor looked down and frowned. The contents of one pocket were, indeed, filled with a squirming lump. With a loud exclamation he plunged a huge hand into the flap of his breeches, drew forth a small kitten, and held it out towards Tony with a look of horror.

“Oh, look how cute!” Anzhela squealed, and she plunged forward. “Aww. Aren’t you a sweetie! Did the big man put you in his pocket? Why would he do that, honey?”

The black kitten ignored her, jumped out of Thor’s hand, and walked unsteadily to Natasha. Balancing itself on one paw, it stretched, rubbed its head against the toe of her boot, and purred loudly.

“Wait just a second. Something’s not right.” Suspicion dripped from her voice as she bent down to pick up the tiny cat.

“Don’t!” Thor and Tony shouted at the same moment.

The kitten disappeared and Natasha fell back onto the ground. Loki appeared in the cat’s place, lying right on top of her in full armor complete with helmet, a victorious smile revealing his very white teeth.

“Hello, darling,” he said.

With a long, theatrical sigh, Tony tapped one toe. “ _Now_ do you see how this could be a party?” he asked.

 


	12. Subplots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the translation of Loki's powerful Norse curse: "Thou art morons, sucking at the teat of your bitch dog mother. With this sword I will cleave your lying maggot mouth from your swine head!"
> 
> As for Natasha, she's pretty much just dropping the 'effer' in Russian.

 

* * *

 

"Maria, a moment of your time." It was voiced as an order, not a question.

Hill looked up from her screen and joined Fury at his. "Problem?"

"Look at this." Nick pointed to a screenshot of Prisoner Loki Laufeyson asleep in his quarters.

"The prisoner, monitored per your orders. Are you worried about him?"

Nick took a moment to appraise her. Hill instantly picked up on his mood; then again, she always did. "He usually moves around more in his sleep. Talks. Mutters. Shouts. Hits the wall sometimes without waking up. Right now he seems sort of peaceful, wouldn't you say?"

Hill watched the dark figure on the mattress for a moment. "I'll bring up his report right away." She returned to her screen and started tapping the keys.

"May I ask you a question?"

She looked up, surprised. "If you feel it's necessary."

"No, not necessary, but I would like to know. You headed SHIELD for a time – doing so admirably, I might add - and yet here you are, back to taking orders under me. What are  _your_ thoughts on that situation?" Nick's gaze didn't leave her face.

"Oh. Well, I imagine they are the same as yours – I will do anything to ensure the safety of our operatives as well as the continuing success of our missions. At this point, we have a 93.8% fulfillment rate, and I take great pride in that fact."

He nodded. "As do I. Very well, carry on."

She pointed to the screen. "Here you are. ' _Prisoner Laufeyson, transferred to our care three months ago, relieved of all magic beyond shape-shifting, according to his father and brother…'_ "

Nick held up one hand. "There. That's the part I'm interested. Are we certain he has no magic abilities? None at all?"

A white line appeared above her lips. "You think he is working some inter-dimensional tricks? I suppose it would be in character…"

"No." Nick reached over her shoulder and clicked Print on the report file. "It would be entirely out of character if he  _weren't_."

* * *

"Aunt Natasha! It really is you!" The cry was followed by the girl's rush to her side, and Anzhela threw her arms around Natasha's shoulders. "I'm so very, very happy to meet you at last – you have no idea – I'm just sorry it had to be in this screwed-up place though! Can you believe this? Thank goodness for Clint!"

Awkwardly Natasha patted Anzhela's back to stem the excited flood of words. She was very aware of Loki's cool, knowing, amused glance on her. "Yes, yes – this is – fine. Good. Okay. Mm-hm!" She added the last in a bright tone, hoping it would make up for any lack of emotional bonding or excitement.

Clint, as always, came to her rescue. He put an arm around Anzhela and steered her away. "I know you're excited," he murmured, "but we're in the middle of a situation, and you need to give your Aunt Natasha some room."

"I know, right?" the girl shouted. "I mean, why are we here anyway? It was so weird. I was on the plane all excited to come and see you, only living relative and all that jazz, and next thing I knew this weird mist appeared and – Boosh, kidnapped! What ever happened to the air martial program anyway?"

"Sequestration," Tony mused. "But go back to this 'Aunt Natasha' thing for a second - I'm thinking pancakes, a line of syrups…"

"Enough." Steve's voice cut him off. "Agent Barton, you have been on the inside of SNAKE headquarters for the longest stretch out of everyone here. Can you explain exactly what happened when I left with the young girl to take her to the hospital?"

"It  _was_  really weird," Clint said. "Bruce and I arrived and got inside, expecting to find a group of ordinary thugs. At least, we did find the syndicate, but just as Banner was about to – you know – change and take them all down, a huge cloud of smoke emerged and he disappeared, along with most of the thugs."

"Hold up. Define  _weird_ , exactly," Tony interrupted. "And keep in mind I've seen a flying titanium snake and Nat hitch a ride on a gravitron bike piloted by a death eater."

"Titanium snake? Death eaters? Is it aliens? New nano tech? Funky cloud week? Could someone please explain? Because I sort of have the feeling I'm about to start freaking out here." Anzhela's eyes were bright with fear; Natasha thought she was indeed exhibiting the signs of an impending panic attack.

"Where were you and Anzhela before we broke down the wall?" she asked Clint.

"She was in some kind of holding area. I'll take you there in a minute so you can all check it out. The other plane passengers were a level below us, though, in an underground cavern. I didn't make it all the way down – as soon as I found her I had to..."

"Uh, Clint," Natasha said, "I believe, um, Anzhela needs a moment to regroup. Or something. Could you maybe get her a drink?" She leaned closer to him and added in a whisper, "I think she's about to lose it. Is there any chance you could do me a huge solid and look after her?"

"Drinks would be good," Anzhela mumbled. She swayed where she stood, and a film of perspiration broke out on her brow.

Clint nodded and, with a look indicating that Natasha would owe him big for the next five years, he propelled the girl through the room with the blasted wall into a hallway on the other side.

"Whew," Natasha breathed.

"Yeah. Let's just recap, shall we? The Islington Syndicate has living wall crypts prepared for all of us, Nat's got a body double walking around, there's an underground airport below us, and I'm out of Teaser Shooters. Meanwhile, what are the two demigods doing?" Tony turned around.

Thor and Loki stood in the far corner arguing in strangled voices, but at that they both stopped and looked up. "I had to chastise my brother about his illegal appearance in my pants," Thor explained. "Also, I was about to sympathize with Lady Natasha, but my brother told me she needed something called 'space'."

Natasha shot Loki a grateful look; the last thing she needed at that moment was sympathy. He ignored it, however. "Did anyone investigate the area? My time here is limited, actually."

"Oh? Why is that?" Steve put his hands on his hips. Tony was still repeating the phrase 'Illegal appearance in my pants' under his breath.

"As soon as my escape from Stark Towers is discovered I'll be hauled back for some infantile punishment. Is it not obvious?" Loki tilted his head back as he said it to look down at them.

"Oops, forgot to add the subplot to my updates," Tony mused. "I'm still not quite sure of what's exactly going on there, but I'm thinking…hmmmm?" He waved one finger between Loki and Natasha.

"Enough," she said, annoyed. "Let's go and see what the hell is going on back there." Pulling out her pistol, she held it out in front of her and strode towards the hall where Clint had disappeared with Anzhela.

Before she could leave the room, however, the lights went out and they were stranded in pitch dark. Natasha heard a cry, several thumps, and a muffled exclamation. A moment later, a hard, muscled projectile hit her in the chest, wrapped strong arms around her, and bore her to one corner.

Instantly a stream of Russian curse words burst out from her lips. "Chto za huy! Chyort voz'mi?!" The lights came back on, and she saw the person holding her was none other than the god of mischief himself. "Damn it, this is the second time you nearly gored me with that helmet of yours!" she cried as she tried to free herself.

Loki held up one hand and looked around. "Silence," he commanded. With one bound he rose, seized her hand to assist her to her feet, and dragged her to the row of niches in the terrifying underground room.

Bruce was no longer alone. Thor, Tony, and Steve were now also frozen in place, each in his given space under the tacked-up nametags.

Loki stood in front of Thor and let loose a flow of his own curses: "Gamla lombungr, sugandi toti tik madr. Ein spadi for qvoki ne skeifr drpr munni ne svinhqfdi!"

Her Old Norse wasn't perfect, but Loki's anger was obvious. Turning to him, she gritted her teeth and jerked her head towards the system of tunnels. "Let's go and get the fucker who did this."

The white line above his upper lip tightened as he regarded his brother. "He may be an idiot and louder than a bilgesnipe in heat, but by the Beard of the All-Father, he is  _my_  idiot." Loki pointed at the parchment on the floor and it flew to his hand; as his arm brushed hers she felt the trembling fury tamped just below his skin. 


	13. The Darkhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Darkhold is canon, and the words Loki quotes from it are straight from the pages of Marvel. The concept of a document which caused lycanthropy (werewolves) and vampirism is pretty fascinating - also, the pages of the Darkhold can grant a wish to the one who holds it. Of course, the wish will come true in the worst possible way...

 

* * *

"What is on the paper?" Natasha asked as Loki strode down the hall by her side.

"Do not allow your curiosity to free you of a healthy dose of fear of this piece of parchment," he replied.

"Believe me, I am always on my guard."

He nodded, and his lips parted in a sarcastic sneer. "I am aware of that, but I wanted to remind you there are even worse things than me out there."

She turned to him quickly. "Thanos? Do you think he's – no, we're dealing with a Syndicate here: a bunch of dumbasses from Islington."

"How would a 'bunch of dumbasses from Islington' as you put it manage to freeze Stark, the one called Captain,  _and_  Doctor Banner in stasis midchange? You do remember how he looked, do you not? As to Thanos, the answer is No. I think what we are about to confront is older, although perhaps not  _quite_  as strong."

Natasha blinked. Bruce was a sight she was not likely to forget quickly, the one bulging shoulder turning green, the shirt ripping with the change, and the look of horror on his face. Whether the source of his fright was whatever had frozen him or his own changing body, it was impossible to determine. Thor, Steve, and Tony looked just as disturbing in their own frozen states.

She looked up at Loki. "Any suggestions?"

"This very interesting bit of parchment could mean our salvation, or our end – I am not certain which just yet. And you need to consider it carefully before rushing headlong into adventure."

Natasha pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I'm all for rushing headlong into adventure. Still, I take your point – at least I would, if there weren't three planes and at least twenty passengers being held underground somewhere."

He made an impatient noise and waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Bait. And whoever is holding them has already made a nice little haul – three of the avengers and the god of thunder. Now, look." She made to interrupt, but he held up the parchment by one corner. It was curled and spotted with age, and the paper was covered with unknown symbols.

"Can you read it?" Natasha gestured to the page.

Loki held it up. "Indeed. I believe the foul one who wrote it made certain it would be legible for whichever poor fool discovered the pages of his grimoire.  _'Know ye, seeker, by the evidence of thine senses that the flame of wonder doth burn in the world'_ … Such dramatic nonsense, really. However," he added as she reached for the page, "you still need to be careful. If I am correct, this is indeed a portion of the Darkhold manuscript, and thus, very dangerous."

Keeping her eyes on his, Natasha reached for her phone. "Hill," she said into it. "Got access to Jarvis?"

"I always have access to Jarvis," Maria's voice replied.

"OK, we have something here that could be important. And dangerous. Ever hear of the Darkhold?"

There was an instant of stunned silence and a scuffle. Apparently Nick got hold of the phone. "Come again?"

"Darkhold, sir. Some sort of manuscript, apparently…"

"Agent Romanoff. You aren't touching a piece of that bullshit, are you?"

Loki's hand shot out, grabbed hers holding the phone, and spoke into it. "I have it in my possession. This case just became a tad more interesting, do you not agree?"

"Give me my phone!" Natasha shouted.

"What the hell – is that – I knew it! Maria, didn't I tell you? Damn it, Prisoner Laufeyson! What are you doing there? And with a piece of the  _Darkhold?_  Because if you pull anything, I swear you are fucked. Know what? You're fucked anyway. You did  _not_  just walk out on me …!" Nick's rage was audible throughout the underground corridor.

"Fury." Natasha spoke into her phone. "Calm down – the nice Mr. Demigod of Mischief, Lies, and Highjacking Conversations here just saved my ass. Speaking of which, we have three agents frozen in an underground room in the SNAKE headquarters."

"Say what? Frozen? As in not moving at all?" he demanded.

"Yeah."

"Which ones?"

"Banner, Cap, and Tony."

There was a long silence on Fury's end, followed by the drawn-out word, "Sheeeeeeeeeit."

"Yeah. So, let's concentrate on getting those agents back in action, and I will take personal responsibility for Prisoner Loki, sir."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Loki's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "Ooooooh," he mouthed at her.  _"Personal."_ She waved him away with one hand but couldn't stop her lips from twitching with amusement.

"You –!" Nick's voice was still filled with anger. "Like I said, you pull any tricks with that Darkhold nonsense, step one toe out of line, and I will come down there myself and fill your Asgardian ass with lead. Got it?"

Loki spoke into the phone. "I will turn in the parchment over in due time. However, since I am somewhat immune to most of its peculiar effects, I thought it best to keep it out of Agent Romanova's hands."

"Uh huh. I'm off to monitor this SNAKE op – if they got Banner, they're a lot more dangerous than we thought. Fury out." The phone clicked off.

Natasha stashed the phone in her belt. "My ass really is on the line now. If you even think of planning some new fucked-up Operation Kneel with this thing…"

She reached again for the parchment, but Loki held it out of her reach with one long arm. "Careful, darling. The Darkhold is rumored to have been the starting point for lycanthropy, among other nasty diseases. Possibly vampires as well. And as fond as I am of wolves, I very much enjoy watching your present form… to be honest, however, I think there is a great deal of rumor and legend surrounding the pages of the manuscript – granting wishes, for example. It is certain, however, that whoever tries to use the page suffers some very nasty ill-effects."

Her mouth opened, and she stepped back. "What ill effects? Loki, do be…" A feeling of utter frustration came over her. "Okay, I know I'm talking to the guy who dove off the Bifrost and waves a Hypnosis Glowstick around willy-nilly, but just be careful."

His expression, which had been a mixture of mockery and amusement, changed into one of puzzlement. "My safety.  _That_  is your concern?"

"No, actually my concern is to get those planes out, the passengers back home, my newly discovered niece the hell out of my life, and oh yes, find another bottle of vodka, not lemon-flavored this time. So thanks for adding to that to-do list with your little Darkhold Handiwipe there."

His dimples deepened, and his laugh rang out in the dark tunnel. "I will not try anything underhand, for the next few hours at least, for one sole reason. You are the first being I have met in centuries who actually can keep up and make me laugh in the process. Lead on, Agent."

Slowly she turned away from him and resumed following the hallway, trying to discover where Clint had gone. The underground passage was tall enough to fit even the demigod's height, helmet and all.

"You might try the right turn here," Loki murmured in her ear.

"Yes, of course – I was going to. You don't need to tell me." Natasha frowned and turned right; she hadn't seen the tunneled interchange until he pointed it out. Naturally, she would never tell him that.

The offshoot led to a long space much like the dining room of a school or a museum. Anzhela sat at one table, and Clint stood over her with a bottle of water. Natasha entered and looked around. "Is this the main holding area?"

The blond girl jumped up. "Aunt Natasha, I am seriously about to start freaking out! Thank goodness you are okay, though. I was so worried, but Clint said you would find us. But oh my gosh! Holy cow! Can you believe these shenanigans?"

Natasha felt, rather than saw, Loki's smile. "Clint, why don't you give me a moment with my – with Anzhela? If you don't mind."

"Are you sure? OK." Clint closed his fingers over her shoulder for one moment. His eyes narrowed when he saw who her companion was, but with an air of resignation he went to join Loki at the door to the long room.

Feeling she was about to take an important test she hadn't studied for, Natasha sat next to Anzhela. The girl moved to give her room and managed a wobbly smile as well as a shaky, "Hey."

"Hey. Listen, I don't know how much you've been told, but…"

"Aunt Natasha, forgive me for interrupting, but I just have to ask you something." Anzhela took a deep breath. "Whew! Here goes. Are you and Clint – you know – together?"

"What?" Natasha was taken aback, and she forgot the rest of the impromptu speech about her job and the importance of privacy. "Me and Clint?" She snuck a look at Hawkeye; he smiled at her and gave her a thumbs' up. "No, not at all. We are best friends, I guess. In fact, maybe you could say he's my only friend. Now, look. Forget all that for the moment…"

"Oh." Anzhela's shoulders slumped. "Never mind, then. I was going to ask if you minded if I – but if it's going to make things weird…"

"Weird?" Natasha rocked back in her seat. "Anzhela, right now all I can think about is getting you and the other passengers to safety."

"Right," the girl whispered. "Of course." She ducked her head, perhaps to hide the dark blush spreading over her skin.

_God, it's like watching myself about eighty years ago,_  Natasha thought.  _Weird? Kid, you have no idea._ She snuck another glance at the table where the two others sat, but this time she caught Loki's eye and he winked at her.  _It would be difficult,_  she thought,  _to imagine a more wicked expression than the smirk on his face._

Resolutely, she turned back to Anzhela. "Listen. About Clint. I guess I have to warn you he can be a tough guy to get to know."

"Him? No way!" Anzhela laughed. Her blond hair swung back over one shoulder. "He's a teddy bear. I would have seriously lost my mind if he hadn't been around while everything went down before you arrived. And he's such a gentleman! Plus, have you seen his muscles?" She ended her sentence with a long, low whistle.

Natasha felt something like anger prickle inside her throat. "Is that so? Well, Don't blame me if you're disappointed. In the meantime, I have to go be an adult and sort all of this out." She rose, reflecting that Loki was right – faced with a body double who laughed, smiled, actually betrayed emotion, she herself seemed all the more like a broken, remade doll who only did what was necessary to complete the mission. "Uh, stay here, please. I don't want to have to rescue you on top of everything else."

Anzhela's face crinkled and she launched herself forward in a fierce hug. "You already did, Aunt Natasha! You already did."

* * *

Loki watched the two women talking. He knew exactly what they were saying, and the subject appealed to his sense of humor. "Agent Romanova's niece?" he asked Barton.

Clint's eyes narrowed. "Obviously," he answered shortly. "What happened back there?"

"Sorry, I thought you received the information." Loki allowed himself a broad smile at Barton's obvious discomfort. "Three agents now stand frozen inside enchanted niches in the outer room…"

"What?" Clint frowned. "That must appeal to you. What did they use, a Chitauri scepter?"

Feeling his temper slip, Loki lost his smile as he looked down his nose at the man. "One of them," he said in a cold, deadly tone, "is my brother."

"Oh." Clint shifted. "Right. Although you have to admit you and Thor…okay, never mind. So, have you  _tried_  to free the agents? Or even thought to inform SHIELD about it?"

Loki's voice grew frostier. "Of course. There is no way to rescue the agents from the niches without my magic, and the man called Fury has been apprised of the situation. There is one spot reserved with your name on it, so keep that in mind."

The sides of Clint's mouth pulled down as he considered. "Hm. The next step is to reach those passengers. They're being held a level below, in a larger cell than this. I'll head down with Agent Romanoff to do our thing; the people will be free in a few hours."

Loki motioned with his hand. "Here comes Natasha now." He smiled again. Using her first name was certain to make the archer angry.

But her words were to Agent Barton. She put one hand on Clint's shoulder and leaned close to him with a smile in her eyes Loki had never seen before. "Hey," she said softly. "I'm going to go and find those prisoners now."

The archer grinned up at her. "Great minds, partner. I'm ready when you are."

"Actually…" She glanced at Loki. "If I leave Anzhela here with, you know, this guy, I mean Loki - she might seriously lose her shit again. I hate to ask you this, but could you stay here with her a bit longer? She trusts you."

"What? Where are you …" Clint stopped and his jaws worked for a moment. As they looked at Anzhela; the girl covered her eyes with one trembling hand.

"Please?" Natasha added. "We're talking about a girl who uses words like 'Holy Cow' and 'shenanigans'.

Barton sighed. "Okay, Nat. Whatever you want - you know I trust your judgement. Just – be careful."

As Loki rose to join her, Clint held up one hand to stop the demigod. "Hang on. What the hell is your value-added exactly, dude? Do you even have a weapon?"

Loki allowed the edges of his mouth to curl slightly as he produced a long, wicked-looking dagger from his sleeve. "Archer, I  _always_  have a weapon."


	14. Mirrors, Names, Madness - and a Key

It was impossible to stride ahead of Loki; he quickly matched his pace to hers so she was forced to walk next to him. They plunged into the gloom of the tunnel system that would take them to the lower levels, according to Clint.

The god of mischief laughed breathlessly and addressed her. "Uncomfortable silence, Agent Romanova?"

"I was merely concentrating on the mission." The statement wasn't strictly true. Natasha had, in fact, formulated a conversation in her head in which she told Loki off for whipping out a long knife while he still had prisoner status. In her fantasy, she compared it to a pissing contest and yelled at him for essentially producing a phallic symbol to wave about in front of Clint.

Having run through all the ripostes Loki would certainly hurl back, she realized any argument of that sort would lead to an extremely uncomfortable exchange.  _I better keep silent instead of getting him going on any topic involving the word 'phallic',_ she thought.

However, it appeared Loki was also prepared to be professional, for the moment at least. "The lack of any noises whatsoever in these tunnels – which should conduct sound under normal circumstances, given the materials of their construction and their design – leads me to believe the prisoners below are in the same position as the three agents in the nasty cellar room. I mean to say, they must also be frozen in place."

"Yes, that makes sense." She dragged one hand through her hair and looked around. "Do you have any idea what could generate the power to do it to such a large group of people? And what it has to do with the Darkhold thingie you found?"

"'Thingie'?" He laughed, showing his white, even teeth. "And, yes, of course I have an idea. I get the feeling we are about to confront something very old and extremely dangerous, as I said." He stopped and forced her chin to tilt up with one finger so he could stare into her face. "Do you promise to listen to everything I tell you to do in the next few hours, even if it seems completely deranged at the time?"

For a moment she had no words. The Lady, the Jotunn, and the god of mischief – they were all embodied in the man who stood in front of her, staring into her eyes with an intent, stern expression. As she considered what he asked, the glint in his gaze turned to something softer, and without warning he lowered his dark head to brush his lips against hers. She gasped slightly, and at once his cool, knowing tongue slid into her mouth in a swirling, electric caress.

A series of shocks ran through her body like forked lightning, and she found she was grasping his collar in one fist. Just as abruptly he broke the kiss and stepped back to take off his helmet. "I suppose an honourable man would apologize for doing that," he said, "but naturally we both know I am not honourable."

 _Nor a man._  The thought made her knees even weaker, and she cleared her throat. Her heart thumped against her ribs, and a butterfly seemed to have lodged between her legs, fluttering in an intimate spot. She knew he realized both those things, had measured her pulse with his skin, monitored her physical reaction to his sudden kiss with surgical precision.  _Damn,_  she thought,  _he's got me. Damn._

To cover her confusion, she pointed to his helmet in his hand. "Why did you remove it?" she asked.

He tossed it into one corner. "The ceiling will be lower where we're going; I don't want to get stuck like a bull in a thicket."

"You can't just leave it lying around." Natasha picked up his helmet by one horn; she was surprised by how light it was. Looking at Loki in his headgear always made her ache from the imagined weight on his forehead. She hefted it and turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "Is it magic?"

"Of course it is. I do not choose to put a cow skull on my head for no reason at all. And now that you have picked it up, you may carry it.  _And,"_  he persisted, "you never answered my question."

"You didn't give me time to talk if you recall, and in any case - yes I did. Just not in so many words." She held the helmet with both hands in front of her chest and raised her chin. Maybe she couldn't look down upon him, but she could be just as haughty as any demigod.

His face lit up in another of his bright smiles. "Perhaps you did."

As they continued onward, she felt the slender, muscled length of him next to her arm wrapped around the helmet. He was an enigma – so secret, so private, so damaged – and yet his mercurial face openly revealed every emotion flitting through his mind: anger, humor, and a moment ago, pure happiness. She tried not to suck in her breath as his hand skimmed her back, as if to guide her through the dark space they were in.

 _Damn,_  she told herself.  _Damn, damn, damn._

* * *

The tunnel level they were on ended at a hole in the ground with only a rope to descend to the lower areas where the planes were, presumably. Loki let go of her waist and indicated the rope. "May I assist you?" he asked.

With one scathing glance, Natasha put his helmet on her head; it was even lighter on, and she found the horns acted as metal antennae by enhancing every sound. Wearing it, she was able to picture where they were and what lay behind them as if it relayed a map straight to her brain. She leapt forward, grasped the rope with her fists and thighs midair, and slid smoothly down to the darkness below. An instant later he landed next to her, his green eyes shining in the dark. "Next time," he breathed in her ear, "allow me to go first."

She recoiled away from his intimate whisper. "Why?"

"So I may have the privilege of watching your shapely legs slide down with a rope between them." He ducked as her fist swung out, and his muffled laugh snicked between his teeth as he captured her hand in his. "Sorry, I just simply could not resist. And by the way, my helmet has never looked lovelier - darling."

"And would you please stop calling me that?" She turned away and started to move down the lower level. The entire tunnel system was enshrouded in shadows, and she felt in her belt for a light.

"What do you mean? Are you talking about the term 'darling'?" Relentlessly he kept up the interrogation as he moved with lithe grace to bend over her with a look of extreme interest on his handsome face. "Do you not enjoy it? It is a Midgardian term of endearment, is it not? After all, it is not as though I am cursing at you or calling you a rude name. If  _that_  happened, then you would be well within your rights to say, 'Loki, stop this.' But I did not. Therefore, I do not see why you should have any objection, and thus the answer to your question is No, I cannot stop."

"You had a different 'term of endearment' for me once, as I recall."

"This again - the Q Word. I thought once I offered you the sight of mine we could move on, but obviously that was not to be the case." He sighed with feigned melancholy; however, his green eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Could you – could we just concentrate on the case?" She felt her nostrils flare; his constant flow of dangerous charm was almost exhausting.

"Of course, darling. The room you seek is fifty furlongs ahead on the left side." As she took a step forward, his hand shot out to stop her. "We are very close now," he whispered. "Do not forget three things – the mirror, most importantly. Do not forget your name. And do not stop me, although you will think my madness has returned."

"Madness, mirrors, name. Got it." None of it made any sense, but Natasha thought if she couldn't move forward to complete the mission, she would be stuck in the deep darkness forever with the god of mischief – a dangerously compelling thought.

"One last item – if all is lost when you return to the streets above, use this." He held out his palm; in the center lay a small key with a tag on it.

"What is it?"

"The address is on the label. You are clever enough to figure it out when the time comes. Now, put it in your belt and we shall finish the little investigation here, if for no other reason than to return to our interesting game."

"Loki, for heaven's sake…" Of course he wouldn't let it go, even in their current predicament.

His head tilted up in his usual haughty angle, and the sharp planes of his cheekbones suddenly looked particularly severe. "It is my turn to select a version of you, Natasha - do not imagine I should let you go so easily. I certainly intend to have you in the form of my choice, as you have done with me. And now – the turning point. We are very close, darling."

The beam from her light showed an entrance to the left, just where he said it would be. Without hesitation, she plucked the helmet off her head and plunged into the gloom, mulling over his last statement.  _His turn! Form of his choice! What on earth could he request?_  She was who she was and nothing more; there was no transgender version of the Widow, nor could she morph into an alien Frost Giant. Shaking her curls out of her eyes, she replied, "Very well, I accept –  _but,_ " she added, as he chuckled with delight, "not until we both get back to Stark Towers."

"That goes without saying. And now, if you wave that little light of yours over here we will be able to see the lower holding port. But do stay away from the edge, love…"

She shone the beam down, and nearly lost her footing. They were at the side of a huge chasm. One step further and she would have pitched over the dizzying height of the space.

The beam also showed a collection of air jets. They were so far below that the things looked like toys; the entire scene was motionless. No one moved, and there was no sound from the passengers.

"Frozen, just as I suspected." Loki nodded with self-satisfaction.

"And what comes next?" Natasha shone the beam around the room.

"Madness, mirrors, name. And the key. Do not forget."

He stepped up behind her and snaked his arm around her from behind to hold her against his chest; she felt his lips on her neck and exclaimed. "What was that for? Stop it!"

"Sorry, darling, but it might be my last chance to steal a kiss. I think the entity behind the kidnappings, the frozen Avengers, and the missing airjets is going to contact us any second. And –  _now._ " His whisper was cut off as the enormous space trembled.

A voice rang out above them - evil, ancient, deep with anger.

" _ **WHO DISTURBS MY SLEEP?"**_


	15. Owls and Hawkeyes

 

* * *

"Do you want more water?" Clint asked.

Anzhela shook her head. "I probably slosh when I walk as it is."

He smiled. "Okay." She smiled back, and he wondered what the hell he could talk about the girl.  _Sniper techniques? No. Fifty ways to murder a mark with duct tape? Not so much._

As a last resort, Clint turned to the one thing they had in common. "So, are you excited to meet Natasha at last? I mean, would you be excited if the circumstances were different? More normal I mean. Not so explosive and weird." He blew out a breath with his lower lip in frustration; the right words were impossible to find.

But Anzhela's eyes crinkled as if with sympathy, and she patted his hand. "I know what you mean. And, yeah – I'm excited. I mean, she's the last person in the world who shares my DNA, so that has to be special, right?" Her expression grew sad. "She didn't seem to feel the same way I do, though."

Clint edged forward on his seat. "You have to understand she's been through a lot. Nat thought she was alone in the world, and in a way it was a comfort to her. None of her actions impacted anyone because she had no family, and now everything has changed."

The girl nodded, her dark blond bangs shaking over her blue eyes. "Because of me, I guess. Once we get out of here, I'll get out of her life - leave her alone. I never meant to bother anyone."

Clint scrunched up his eyes. "I hate to say it, but maybe that would be the best …" Anzhela's bright eyes filled with tears, and a feeling of panic welled up in his chest. "Listen, don't – don't do that. Stay in touch, okay? With me, I mean, no matter what happens. I could let you know if Nat ever has a change of heart, seems to soften up, that sort of thing."

"Yeah. Thanks. I don't think she's the kind to soften up, though."

He decided to change the subject. "What do you do, anyway?"

"Actually, I just got a really sweet job. I manage the marketing and publicity center for the athletic program at Temple University, so I send out free tickets, manage distribution and promotions – it means I have to attend a lot of games, meet loads of athletes. Pretty plush, right?" She grinned at him, and he realized she wasn't identical to Natasha, after all. Along with the blond hair, she had an endearing gap in the front of her mouth where one tooth was chipped.

He pointed to her lips. "What happened to your tooth?"

Her grin widened. "Did an illegal flip as a cheerleader in high school. My coach said we weren't allowed, so of course I had to go ahead and try it. Hence the gap. I'm saving up now to get it fixed, actually - getting close to scheduling the appointment."

"No," Clint protested. "You have no need to do that. I like the gap – it gives you your own flavour."

"Flavour, huh?" She was about to add something else, but the lights flickered and the floor groaned underfoot.

Clint shot forward and wound an arm around her waist. "Now –  _move_ ," he growled in her ear. Without a protest, she followed him to a far corner of the cafeteria, where he flipped up one of the tables as a shield for them to hide behind.

"What is it? What is making the building and the ground move like that?" Her voice thickened with fear as he forced her down next to him behind the flimsy, temporary shield.

He turned to her and tightened the hold on her waist. "Listen. I really  _have_  to go out there, find my partner, and check it out…" he began.

Anzhela shook her head wildly and flung her arms around his neck. "No!" she said in his ear. "No, please don't leave me. No. No."

There was another rumble and the lights went out completely. Clint cursed; how on earth could he leave the soft, clinging girl at his side to get to Nat?

A tear coursed down his neck, and he turned to Anzhela. "Oh, hey," he said uncomfortably. "Baby girl, don't cry. We'll get out of here, you'll see – in a few hours you'll be safe in the headquarters of my corporation, eating a big dinner. What do you like? Steak? Pasta? Lobster? Indian? Vegan?" He gabbled the words, trying to ease her panic before she screamed or lost control. "Hey, you like sports, right? What do you think of my guys in Iowa – the Hawkeyes?"

She gasped, but whether it was with laughter or fear, he found it impossible to tell. At last he heard her whisper, "Sorry about your team. They're really sucking wind lately."

"Don't give up on them just yet! After all, who ever heard about the Temple Owls? Weren't they kicked out of the Northeast conference for a few years? Now, the Hawkeyes – that's a famous program right there." His strategy seemed to work. She relaxed in his arms, although she didn't loosen her arms around his neck.

"Hellooo – ever hear of Pop Warner? But tell me more about Iowa. Do you ever go back?" Her voice sounded curious – interested.

"No." He added a short version of his own history, how he ran away to join the circus and was taught sharpshooting skills, how he excelled so quickly the screw who taught him grew jealous and framed him for murder, how eventually he became an agent.

"And have you been in love with Natasha for long?"

"No, I…" He stopped and turned towards her sharply. "Hey, how did you do that? You are actually more like her than I thought."

"Except for the blond hair. And the broken tooth." Her smile could be heard in the dark, in the way she spoke.

"Which I like. I told you that."

"Yeah. Tell you what maybe I'll save the money I was going to use for dental work and go visit the Hawkeye stadium instead. What do you think? Will you come with me?" She moved her head, perhaps to gauge his reaction.

Mentally he shrugged. Even if they managed to get out of the dark, underground lair, she couldn't hold him to it, right? "Sure. Sure, I will. Sounds like fun."

"Great! We'll have a blast. You can show me all your old stomping grounds." There was that unseen smile again.

Before he could respond, the floor began to shake once more. The tremors were followed by a long, unearthly scream from the tunnels below, so filled with pain and anguish it was difficult to tell if it came from a human or an animal. it certainly wasn't Nat, Clint thought.

Anzhela shrieked and pressed herself closely to Clint. The scream died away in the dark, and silence surged back. He felt his knees stiffen, and he shifted to a more comfortable position.

A moment later he felt something else – a soft pair of lips on his neck, leaving a trail of kisses up to his mouth.

"Mmmph," he gasped. "Hey, Anzhela. Don't do that… You're not thinking straight…"

"Please," she whispered. "Please. I just don't want to be alone, here in the dark. Just  _be_  with me." She fiddled with her shirt, reached for his hand and placed it on her breast; under his thumb her soft tip hardened and peaked. The movement caused one of their phones to come to life; by the tiny yellow glow of the lockscreen she looked just like Natasha.

"Kiss me, Clint," the woman in his arms said, and he was lost.


	16. Fractal Maze

* * *

 

The voice rang out again.  _ **"WHO DISTURBS THEIR SLEEP?"**_

The space in front of Loki and Natasha grew brighter, and a huge, shadowed figure appeared holding a staff in both hands. Its skin was grey with age; as Natasha watched, horrified, a slow worm emerged from under one of the thing's nails and curled around its thumb.

"This is the part where you listen to my madness, darling," Loki murmured in her ear. "Leave me. Go. I mean it, Natasha. Now –  _run!"_

She nearly slipped as she turned to protest, to demand he come with her, but his hands were on her shoulders pushing her away from him and the ancient, shadowy monster at the other end of the tunnel. "Trust me," he said. "Go!"

Natasha felt a wave of anger. "I  _can't_  leave you!" she shouted, anger curling in her chest.

The dark thing raised its head, and she saw its flesh fall away from its rotting teeth, its tongue, its eye sockets. One hideous ball swiveled and found her. A sneer came over its face, and the hand with the worm still curled around its thumb rose, holding the staff to point at her.

A long bolt of green light shot out from the spear, hitting her square in the chest. The force threw her across the tunnel; she felt the ground slide from under her feet. Desperately she reached for something to hold onto, but it was too late. The tunnel fell away, and she pitched over the side into the abyss.

She saw the frozen airjets rushing up to meet her. Heard one last sound - a strangled cry - ripped from Loki's throat. Saw one last sight: his white face and green eyes, staring into hers with desperation as she rushed away from him, born down into darkness.

Saw nothing.

* * *

The Russian groaned. She lay on the hard floor of a room; under her fingertips the surface felt like concrete. A face stared into hers with one single eye; she leaped up with her heart in her throat and realized she was looking at the head of a broken doll lying discarded on the ground.

"Ohhhh." She stood and swayed, feeling as though she might vomit. Getting up so quickly had been a really bad move. Her vision blurred and she felt so dizzy she nearly fell down again.

"Damn it! Get moving – you…"

She couldn't remember her name. She had no idea where she was, or  _who_  she was, or why she was there at all.

The Russian shook her head cautiously and looked around. The room she was in had a round, open window in each of its walls. Through those holes she saw more rooms with more windows, leading one into the other, as though she stood in the center of an endless fractal maze.

She crossed to the window and peered into the next room. It was also built of concrete, and more detritus lay on the floors: torn clothes, smashed plates, old newpapers.

The Russian slung one leg over the sill and climbed through. As she did so, she realized she was holding something in one hand, a sort of metal hat with two horns rearing back over the headpiece.  _What the hell?_  It was no use to her, and she certainly couldn't drag it with her through that strange, infinite space.

She put the helmet down and prepared to climb into the next room. Perhaps if she went in a straight line she would find the end of the vast labyrinth. It couldn't go on forever.

As she landed in the third room, just as broken and deserted as the others, the Russian looked back at the horned thing. It sat where she left it, gleaming under the flickering neon overhead. The bright object seemed incongruous among the heaps of old objects; as she frowned, a newspaper picked up a breeze from somewhere and blew against the bright metal to snag on one of the horns.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," she snapped to herself. "I must be going out of my mind." She climbed back in, seized the helmet, and returned to her strange journey.

The quest quickly grew monotonous. The rooms never changed, although the trash in them was different. In one room, she encountered an old bedstead marked with fire. In another, a painting hung askew from one nail; a giant hole was blasted in its center making it impossible for her to tell if it had been a still life or a portrait. There was a smell of mold and dust in the air, as well as impossible age.

The silence was eternal, punctuated only by an occasional gust of wind. The Russian grew tired, but she began to panic as well. She felt as if she would have to stay forever in the vast, anonymous space if she stopped to rest.

Just as she was about to give up and collapse against a wall to release the sobs she was choking back, she found another occupant. As she stepped into the next room, she heard a quick exclamation.

"Hello?" Natasha looked around. An older man sat on the floor, his knees hunched up. The position made his pants ride up so she could see a flash of dark socks over expensive leather shoes, neatly tied.

"Where are we?" He spoke with an accent, which she couldn't place.

"Honestly, I have no idea. How did you get here?"

He looked around. "How? I have no idea either. I can't even tell you my name, I'm afraid."

She felt a flash of humor cross her face at that.  _Your secret smile…_  The words crossed her mind as a tantalizing memory.

The man stood as she stumbled. "Are you quite well? You seem pale."

Shaking her head, the Russian regained her poise. "Sorry – I thought I remembered something but it's gone now. I'm like you – I don't even know my name."

"What are you holding?"

She looked at the helmet. "I don't know what it is. It was in my hand when I woke up. Sorry, I don't have many answers for you."

"Do you think it will help you regain your memory or aid us to escape?"

She studied it for a while, and at last she shook her head. "Nothing, sorry. The only thing I can think of is to move ahead in a straight line, hoping to find an end."

"At least we can go together," he proposed.

She nodded, and they moved to the window.

The wind howled. The room led to another, and yet another. There was no end in sight.

* * *

After a long time of climbing, a room filled with old clothes yielded two inhabitants: a middle-aged couple. The man had his arm around the woman, and their faces were filled with a shocked resignation. When the Russian and the elderly man climbed into the room, the woman looked up with something like hope. It faded, however, when all four of them realized they had no memory, no clue to how they came to be in that strange space.

A bit later they found another man, followed by two women and a teenaged boy. By this time the Russian's legs ached from the effort of climbing through endless windows, even though the muscles in her legs seemed strong and used to exercise. Again she considered abandoning the helmet, but some strange compulsion made her hold onto it.

After a few hours, their group had swelled to the Russian and twenty other people. They all followed her, seeming to accept her as a natural leader. This gave her a few qualms, since she had no clue where she was going or if a destination even existed at all.

The second fear proved only too true. The group arrived in a last room, and there was no window through to another. The wall in front of them was blank cement riddled only with a few nail holes. Below the holes, the remains of an old, rusty shelf spilled a few dust-covered paperbacks onto the cement floor.

The Russian crossed to the solid wall and felt it with shaking fingers. "No," she said. "No, no, no, no."

"What are we going to do?" the elderly man asked. His voice trembled with exhaustion and fear.

As one, the group turned to regard the distance behind them. It was unthinkable to even contemplate returning. The Russian knew they were at the last of their strength. They had no food, no rest, not even a sip of water.

She knelt, hoping to ease the ache in her legs. One of the spilled books sighed and tipped over, revealing a page of text.

An older women with grey streaks in her hair saw the book and came closer. "I remember that book, but from where?" The lady talked as though she spoke to herself. "Everything that came before this is a dream – I feel as though I have been climbing through empty rooms for a lifetime."

The Russian nodded with understanding; she felt the same way.

"Go on," someone else murmured. It was the elderly gentleman she had met first in the labyrinth. "We're all tired. Read us a page or two while we sit and rest for a while."

"Oh!" The Russian raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat. It wasn't a bad idea. There was panic in the faces of a few of the people, and rest would be good. "Very well." She flipped through the book and found a section that must have been read many times; the pages naturally spread open to that page.

" _As I exclaimed 'Natasha! Natasha! Natasha!' a voice- I cannot tell whence the voice came, but I know whose voice it was- replied, 'I am coming: wait for me;' and a moment after, went whispering on the wind the words- 'Where are you?' "I'll tell you, if I can, the idea, the picture these words opened to my mind: yet it is difficult to express what I want to express. Ferndean is buried, as you see, in a heavy wood, where sound falls dull, and dies unreverberating. 'Where are you?' seemed spoken amongst mountains; for I heard a hill-sent echo repeat the words. Cooler and fresher at the moment the gale seemed to visit my brow: I could have deemed that in some wild, lone scene, I and Natasha were meeting. In spirit, I believe we must have met. You no doubt were, at that hour, in unconscious sleep, Natasha: perhaps your soul wandered from its cell to comfort mine; for those were your accents- as certain as I live- they were yours!"_

Her eyes slid over the words, again and again, and her fingers touched her shaking lips.

The woman with grey in her hair frowned and bent down to look at the page. "Those words are so beautiful, and yet they are not quite right. It wasn't 'Natasha', it should be Jane. See, there on the spine is the title of the book – 'Jane Eyre'."

"Sorry," the Russian said. "Jane, of course. You're right." She looked at the text again – there was the word 'Jane', spelled out clearly. Why had she read 'Natasha' instead? It didn't make sense.

" _Madness! Mirror! Name! And the key!"_

She put her hands over her ears, but the scream came from within her own mind. Her eyes widened, and from where she crouched she saw the helmet was so bright and polished that it held a picture on its side as clearly as though it were a mirror.

But it did not reflect what was in the room – she did not see the tired strangers behind her, nor her own exhausted face staring back at her. She saw none of those things.

Instead it showed the image of a naked man, so sharply muscled he must have been a god. His dark hair was thrown back, and his face contorted in agony. Above his head, a snake hissed and coiled; from its open mouth a drop of venom descended to fall straight into the eyes of the dark stranger.

The god seemed unable to move away from the torture. He screamed as the poison dripped into his very pupil, and Natasha screamed as well.

_Natasha. That was her name._

_Loki. That was his name._

She stood suddenly and felt in her belt for the guns and the explosive disks she always carried. "Move back," she advised the tired, ragtag crew behind her. "I know exactly who I am now. You are here with the Black Widow, and this wall is about to go down."


	17. Monologuing

 

* * *

When Natasha pitched over the side of the abyss, Loki took two steps forward. The first was to try and stop her from falling to her death; the second was to plunge after her.

Instead of following her spiraling fall, a cold force pulled him back. He was rewarded with one last sight of her red hair disappearing like a flame in the darkness, and he tensed to spring after her. Then he was roughly pulled back. The knowledge that he had no powers left to him, nothing except for useless shapeshifting, strangled his throat so he gasped with the unbearable sadness of it. The one person who matched him, who saw what he was and did not flinch from it, was gone in a split second as though she had never existed.

No. He  _could_  not accept her loss, the end of the game. One chance still rested in his grasp - The Darkhold parchment.

How had he forgotten about it? He could still use its power although he had none of his won, despite the rumors that doing so would bring him misery. The tales whispered of the Darkhold said its use to grant a wish would mete the ultimate death – or worse – to the user.

To  _not_  do so, however, was unthinkable. Quickly he fingered the page and whispered his wish for Natasha's safety. The parchment grew warm to the touch and a curl of smoke rose from the words.

In front of him, the dark shape snapped to attention. "Darkhold," it whispered. "You use the Darkhold! Fool. You are a fool! You hope to use my power – my own spells – against me?"

Loki had no idea if his whispered wish came true before his body was spun to face the ancient, evil thing with him in the tunnels. "I know your name," the creature growled. "You  _were_  powerful once, but not any longer. Why not, I wonder?" The bump on its shoulders, which seemed to be a head, tilted as though it were considering.

Loki opened his mouth to shout something. After a few moments, he shut it again. What could he say, after all? The ancient, evil creature in front of him was correct. His magic was gone; there was nothing he could do.

After a long moment, threaded with the sound of trickling water and the intermittent hum of a machine somewhere in the tunnels, the dark figure spoke again. "Say my name," it growled.

"Chthon." He knew it at once, had known ever since he found the pages from the Darkhold. He said nothing else; perhaps he had learned something from the interrogation ages ago with Natasha.

The ancient voice grew deeper. "No," it mused. "I see it now. You did not use the Darkhold for yourself or even to vanquish me. Instead, you spent your wish for another's safety. And in doing so, you have just gambled your soul. Why?"

"Perhaps I owe a debt," Loki replied at last.

"A debt! With the page of my magic grimoire? Do not worry, I shall make you pay every scrap of 'your debt'. Do you think to save another would save yourself?" The voice changed, became a long hiss. "Do you remember Vili and what became of him? And what then became of you after? Do you?"

A vision came to Loki's mind: long, red, glistening bands, binding him to the rocks. Above him, the head of the serpent, looking into his eyes. Not being able to move as he watched the pearls of venom grow at the end of the tooth, not being able to close his eyes as the poison dripped into the pupils. Writhing, screaming in pain – pain so great his struggles caused earthquakes across Midgard and the advent of Ragnorak.

He glanced at the spent page in his hand. The words on the parchment turned red; as he watched, the page crumbled into ash and dropped from his hand. There was no more power left in it.

"Just get it over with," he snarled at last.

* * *

During another age, Loki was imprisoned on the rocks by the Sea of Marmora in a dark cave, strapped down for torture. Now he awoke in a white, antiseptic room, bound to a metal chair. As in Asgard, he was entirely naked except for the red, sinewy ropes which tied him in place. They cut deeply into his ankles, his wrists, his neck, his belly, making his muscles ache with cramp.

Overhead, a simple tile ceiling glowed with bright light. It was darkened as Chthon entered the room; Loki felt his gorge rise as the smell of the elder god filled his nostrils with rank putrefaction and decay.

The approach stopped. Chthon seemed to regard him for a long moment, and at last the thing spoke. "You and I are very alike. We despise these mortals. What a pity you lost your hatred for the female one – you could have served me, as you once served another." This was followed by a long sighing breath, tinged with scarred flesh and smelling of bile. "Now look at what I have prepared for you."

Despite himself, Loki turned his head. A silver tray on a table near the chair glinted under the light, filled with strange tools. The grey hand picked up one, a tube with a needle as one end and a plunger on the other. "Hypodermic," the voice continued. "The liquid therein will allow you to feel everything, but your movement will stop. However, I will still be able to enjoy your screams. Other than that you will experience near paralysisssss…"

Chthon hissed the last word as the needle slid into Loki's arm. The young god felt a cold sting, one that spread throughout his limbs. Still he said nothing, intent on his one hope. Had Natasha survived the fall? Would he see her again?

" _Do you think to save another would save yourself?"_  The words spoken by Chthon to him were very close to what he himself had once shouted in anger, to Natasha, the very person he now wanted to save. As Loki struggled against his bonds, he realized that in Chthon he was actually facing the dark version of himself. Somehow that thought was even worse than the pain he was on the verge of suffering.

Because although he was the one being tortured, in the scheme of things he and Chthon were alike _._  He was not like Natasha. She burned bright, a flame in the darkness. He, Loki, was on the other side, like the hideous dark shape in front of him. Loki and Natasha – two opposite sides of the same coin. And now, when it was too late, he wanted to escape the darkness inside his own mind and join her light.

The hideous shaped glided closer. "And look overhead, at the tile. See how it slides back, to reveal a small tube? You know what it is for, do you not, little god?" The words were followed by a long, merciless laugh.

Loki's eyes went to the ceiling. The tile moved, and a dark hole was behind it, just as Chthon had promised. Something moved inside, promising a cold descent.

It wasn't until the actual head of the serpent appeared through the hole to hang directly over his eye that he began to scream.


	18. The Horned Helmet

Natasha led the weary passengers out of the hole she had blasted through the building. Outside it was dark, and she felt in her belt for her phone.  _Please let there be some batt power left,_  she prayed.

Luckily the phone worked, and she flicked on the flashlight app. Ahead in the darkness there were three abandoned airjets, and beyond them a steep wall, surging up overhead for at least fifty feet.

"How the hell are we going to get out of here?" The kid in his teens pressed forward, a desperate look in his eyes.

Natasha put one hand on his chest to hold him back. "Let me. There's a situation going on up top there you won't believe."

The kid started to protest, but one of the other passenger's managed to get him to move back. Natasha gave her phone to the older man. "Take this," she said. "It will give a you a little light, so use it sparingly. I'm climbing up to get help – don't worry, I'll be as fast as I can."

"Up there?" He frowned at the huge expanse of sheer rock.

"Damn straight." Natasha grinned as she felt in her belt for her grappling hooks; the micro suction cups for her hands and feet were already in place.

"Wait." The woman with grey hair felt for her hand and pressed something into it, a page with writing on it. "I have a strange feeling you might need this when you get where you're going."

Without thinking, Natasha nodded and put the paper in her belt. "You should look for some supplies on the planes: water, food, more lights, at least a place to rest for a while." She dropped her voice and added, "Keep on eye on the kid. He's close to a panic attack."

The man nodded. "I think you're right. Do try to be…"

She laughed, unable to wait any longer to get back to the mission; it had been on hold for long enough. "Quick? You bet."

Without looking back she scissored her way to the wall and attached a line. Working smoothly, she put on the helmet, adjusted her suction pads and began to work her way up, running a zig-zag up the ascent. The horns gave her a picture of the space in her mind, so she was able to find the best path upwards.

Her legs, after the long climb through the labyrinth, were the first to tire. As she continued up the cliff, Natasha wondered vaguely when her last meal was – or last drink, for that matter. "I'm going to buy a shitload of Purus," she muttered to herself, "plus more of that caviar. Also mushroom vareniki, and gozinakh." A vision of the treats propelled her higher, and she forgot the ache in her legs.

"Sour cream. Solyanka. And…" There was another treat she truly hungered for: one with green eyes, black hair, and an ironic smile. "Damn it," she growled, and her hand felt the ledge.

With a grunt, she swung herself over the top and stood in the darkness. It was where she had last seen Loki and the ancient monster; now the place hung in deadly silence.

She moved forward, feeling for the way back with the help of her fingers and the horned helmet. The path they had taken unfurled in her mind with the bright object's aid, and she ran as quickly as she dared, not wanting to miss a turn and be lost forever in the black void.

Silence. No sound. Nothing.

Until the shadows were penetrated by a long, unearthly howl, a shout of pure horror and pain. The shout was so dreadful and so loud, the ground seemed to shake underfoot. She knew immediately who it was.

Natasha stopped, instantly located the direction the scream had come from, and she turned to double back. _Loki!_  she thought.  _What is that fucker doing to you?_

Ahead in the dark, a rectangle of harsh light indicated the place, a door surrounded by raw neon of the kind used in laboratories and hospitals. Knowing it was probably a trap Natasha went forward anyway, feeling for her pistol and a Widow's Bite disc as she did.

At the door, she hesitated before she tried the handle. Locked, of course, but her bullets would make short work of that. The helmet helped her to calculate where the bolt would run through the metal. She screwed on a silencer and shot through the lock twice.

The door swung open, and her eyes were momentarily blinded by the light inside. When at last her vision cleared, she had to hold the back of her hand to her mouth so she wouldn't scream aloud.

Loki was strapped down in a chair of the kind used in dentists' offices, completely naked. His head was tilted back, and hanging over his face was a black and white krait snake with its mouth open. As Natasha started forward, a long thread of venom appeared at the end of one fang.

The demigod began to shudder and talk to himself. "No," he said. "I cannot do it again. I cannot. No no no no no no."

With a curse, Natasha lunged forward. She pulled the helmet from her head with one horn and held it upside-down to catch the poison before it could fall in Loki's eyes. "Damn it," she gasped as she looked down at him. Red and purple ropes were tied around his hands, neck, and legs; they appeared medical - almost biological in nature. "Loki," she said, trying to keep the despair out of her voice. " _Loki!_  Can you hear me?"

His eyes blinked rapidly; one was filled with a disgustingly milky substance, but he worked to focus on her. "Is it you?" he whispered. "Is it really you? I hardly dared to hope ..."

The Black Widow, toast of seven continents and a trained assassin, felt a tear fun down her cheek at his words. "I'm right here with you," she said grimly, "and this fucking viper is going to hell."

The snake's head darted in her direction at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, bitch," Natasha added. "Close that pretty mouth of yours - I'm about to blast you out of the Nine Realms."

She waited until another course of drops ran into the helmet, thinking as they did the snake must have been biologically engineered to produce more venom than normal. The poison hissed as it ran into the helmet; probably the creature had been bred for poison production and greater LD50 factor, making it more dangerous than any living species.

As soon as the stream of drops slowed and stopped, she lowered the helmet to fire a shot into the snake's head, angling it upward towards the hole in the ceiling to avoid ricochet. The serpent blew up in a gelatinous red mist.

Natasha threw herself over Loki's face to shield him in case there was any poison left inside its fangs. After a moment she lifted her head. The young god's eyes were closed, and he appeared to be talking to himself in another language, one she didn't recognize. "Hey," she whispered, "stay with me, baby." She put one hand on his wrist and the other on his forehead; after a moment she realized she had no idea of the suitable pulse and temperature of a demigod from Asgard.

She straightened and eyed the bonds tying him down. "I have got to get you out of here," she muttered as she felt for the dagger in her boot. It sliced easily through the disgusting cords, and she saw they were long strands of intestines looped around Loki to hold him down. She shivered and wondered whose they were;  _no point in thinking about it, however,_  she counseled herself.

When he was free, Natasha slipped an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, let's get your immortal ass out of here." She managed to hoist him to his feet and wind his arm around her shoulders.

"Okay!" she said brightly. "That's it! And you're on your feet, and we're walking, we're walking…"

She managed to propel him into the hallway. His head hung forward, and she had to drag him with all of her strength to get him to move.

As they left the room he began to speak again, but his words seemed meaningless; they weren't even in Old Norse as far as she could tell. "Loki!" she snapped. "Stay with me, goddamnit. Listen to my voice."

"Chthon. He was the one. I am like him. Not like you. Screams. Earthquakes. Snakes. Wolves. Ragnorak. Always me. I cause it. I bring the end. I am the destroyer of worlds. I am the Darkhold." His whispers filtered out into the stale, dark air, and his arms began to shake.

Natasha felt desperate. "Hey," she said. "Listen. Remember our game back in Stark Tower? Do you recall it, moj ljub? Remember you said it was your turn to ask for something from me? What were you going to request from me – do you recall? You said you wanted to see another side of me, but I couldn't figure it out. I mean, I don't have an alter-ego, so what could you possibly want from me?"

His head rose to face her, and although his eyes were mere slits a hollow laugh escaped his dry, cracked lips. "Ballerina," he whispered.

Natasha stopped, shocked. "What did you say?"

His smile widened, as though in triumph, and mentally she kicked herself. It seemed that even in the midst of torture and degradation, the god of mischief and lies could still go a round with her.

Those thoughts vanished as a dark shape materialized in front of them. Natasha bit back a scream; the monster, it appeared, had found them.

"Excellent," it whispered. The creature brought with it a stench of rotting flesh and corruption; as it spoke again a few death's head beetles crawled out of its mouth. "I do so love the pretty things I catch in my traps."

_I have had enough of this fucker._  Natasha raised her gun and fired at its head, but the bullets were useless; they were instantly absorbed by the soft, sucking maw of the thing's face. Her stomach heaved at the sight, but she forced herself to remain calm.  _No emotion,_  she reminded herself.

It moved forward, and she felt in her belt for one of her disks. The first thing she encountered was the page from the book, the one the lady with grey hair handed to her.

The creature stopped as she touched it, and a sense of confusion appeared to cover its melting features. "What is that?" it said. "What do you hold in your hand? Impossible…"

_Was_  it possible? Natasha held up the page, and by some unknown power the paper started to glow in the dark. The words became clearer, and she found she could easily read each one:

" _I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you - especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly._ _"_

The dark thing shuddered but recovered. "Pathetic!" it spat. "Words? You attempt to defend yourself with  _words?_  They have no effect on me!"

In her arms, Loki stirred. He dropped his hold on Natasha's waist and pointed at the dreadful, decaying shape in front of them. "Perhaps not, but they have an effect on  _me."_ His voice grew stronger, and he sneered. "I am utterly weary of you, Chthon of the Elder Gods. You have roused my anger. Back away from the chosen consort of Prince Loki Laufeyson!"

From his upheld palm a long shaft of green flames shot out, engulfing the creature. The unearthly fire consumed the hideous shape in a rush of foul-smelling smoke. Natasha couldn't help stepping back as the thing called Chthon screamed in anger – and disappeared.

For a long moment there was silence, punctuated only by water dripping somewhere. At last she spoke. "Woah. What just happened?"

The god of mischief raised his chin as he surveyed the scene in front of them – the last wisps of smoke, the paper in Natasha's hand. He looked severe, as though he was holding onto the last shreds of his temper. "The words from the page you hold in your hand somehow returned my magic powers to me. If we found the Darkhold earlier, than perhaps you have discovered some sort of Lighthold." Loki frowned with a sudden realization and looked down at himself. "And by the Realms, I am naked."

"Yup. Yes. Mm-hm. You sure are. Can't argue there." Natasha raised her eyebrows.

He made a wide gesture, and suddenly he appeared in his full armor, dazzling in black, gold, and green. With a mocking smile, he offered her his arm. "I believe we still have a great deal of work to do. Come, darling, and let us be on our way ere that filth returns."


	19. Unfrozen

The call came from Stark's phone, but when Fury answered with one terse "Go," Agent Romanoff was on the line instead. "Talk to me," Nick commanded.

"Sir, this situation escalated as Loki foresaw. However, we have the passengers and the planes secured, and hopefully the other agents will be unfrozen in a few minutes."

"Hold on.  _Unfrozen?_  What the hell does that mean? Escalated how exactly? And where are those planes?"

Hill looked up from her monitor. "I just received word the missing planes are recovered and are now in storage within a couple of adjacent hangars at Heathrow."

"What?" Fury looked at Maria, at his own computer, at Agent Romanoff's exhausted face, and back to Hill. "And by the way, is that Asgardian asshole still with you on the case?"

"Yes, sir. That is correct." Natasha spoke in her usually unemotional tone, but on the screen she had a wary look around her eyes.

"Did  _you_  have anything to do with the recoup of the planes?"

"No, sir. That was all thanks to the 'Asgardian asshole', to use your phrase, sir."

Nick shoved his forefinger at the monitor, wishing it were the entire Avenger team in front of him so he could chew all of them out in person. "Well, would you  _please_  inform Laufeyson I shall be cutting off both his balls, skewering them on a rotisserie, barbecuing to well-done and serving them to the dogs behind my house for dinner? And I want a report on my desktop in three hours. Heavy on the details." He cut the connection before she could reply.

"Sir, would you like a …" Maria began.

"No." Fury, his eyes set in a murderous stare, stormed out of the room.

Shaking her head, Hill returned to her monitor.

* * *

"I suppose I am in trouble as usual." Loki raised his eyebrows at Natasha before turning back to Banner, Stark, Steve, and Thor, each one still frozen in place in their niches.

"You got it. He wants to cut off your testicles and slow roast them for dinner."

His eyelids half-closed, he smirked as he considered the Avengers in front of him. "Does he presume he is the only one? Tell him to wait his turn."

"How's it coming along?" Natasha indicated her teammates.

"Tricky. The problem is the doctor – he is in mid-shift, and I would hate to have him bash me about again. Worse, he might tarnish my helmet after it saved my life."

"Mmm." Natasha considered and nodded with agreement. "Saved mine too, so I suppose I must agree with you about the helmet - and maybe the bashing too. Are you going to start with the others?"

"I think I can manage, although I will have to stun them a bit." He raised one hand and, curling his fingers, summoned a glowing ball of energy. Just as he was about to release it, Clint and Anzhela burst into the room. Loki sighed and let his magic dissipate.

"Natasha!" Clint bounded forward and enveloped her in a bear hug. Anzhela followed and flung herself over both of them, squealing with joy.

"Can't breathe – stop!" Natasha freed herself. "Where were you two? We ascended through that cafeteria area, but there was no sign of you."

Clint and Anzhela eyed each other nervously. "I had to go to the bathroom," the girl said hastily. "Clint was a real gentleman; he walked me there and held my purse."

"Really!" Natasha tried to imagine it and failed.

"I am about to attempt it one more time," Loki said. "It would be best if this lady were out of the room." He waved at Anzhela.

The blond girl eyed him with misgiving. "Are you going to turn yourself into a cat again?"

Clint spoke at the same time. "I would really prefer to stay…"

"Look. The Hulk could reappear any minute. Do you really want her in the room if he does?" Natasha waved at Banner, and after a moment Clint nodded, acknowledging the sense of it. He put one hand on Anzhela's elbow, and steered her towards the stairs. "One moment," Natasha added. "The actual syndicate might be grouped outside – I'm talking the Clerkenwell thugs, not Chthon or any other characters from the Silmarillion. Here, take this…"

She threw him the key from her belt, the one Loki had given her, and Clint caught it neatly. "What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know." Natasha turned to Loki, who was murmuring to himself and preparing to recast his spell. "What is it?"

"Weapons cache, also get-away materials, stored in the cellar of the Wood End Library. If you exit by the side street, you may avoid any lingering ruffians."

"How the hell did you …" Clint frowned and held up both hands. "Never mind, I don't even want to know. Come on, Anzhela. Let's go and find this hidden stash."

The girl paused and gave Natasha one last crushing hug before following Clint out of the room. "It seems it is just you and I again," Loki said with a grin as soon as their footsteps died away. Somehow he managed to suggest all kinds of dangerous possibilities with one smile.

"Not for long," Natasha reminded him. "One thing at a time. Who are you defrosting first?"

Loki considered before pointing at Thor. "I shall experiment on him." He rattled off a long string of complicated, Norse syllables and flung the magic sphere that appeared in his hand at his brother.

There was a crash that sounded like heavy lightning, and the green glow around Thor dissolved. In a moment the god of Thunder stepped out of the niche, holding his hammer and looking around with a confused expression. "By the garters of the Valkyries! What has happened? Who has…" He saw Loki and beamed, holding out his arms for an embrace.

"Hold on there just a second, buddy." Natasha got between the brothers and motioned to Loki. "He's in the middle of something."

"Oh," Thor replied in a loud stage whisper. A second later, he added, "Is there any food to be had? I could eat Sleipnir himself."

"No, but don't worry – apparently Fury's planning a barbecue later." Natasha was cut off as Steve reappeared, followed by Tony.

Stark was already talking the instant the glow released him. "…Kim Kardashian," he said, frowned, and seemed to search the room. "Uh, what was I talking about?"

Natasha ignored him. "What do you need us to do?" she asked.

Loki brought one hand up to his mouth and considered. "Just allow me to think. Thurisaz, maybe, as a regenerative catalyst, with Ansuz for manipulation, or else we could be as flat as one of those delicacies called pancakes…"

Steve was obviously tired of the wait. "Just free him now, and  _I'll_  control the Hulk."

"Uh…" Tony flicked his eyes in the direction of the huge, green, bulging shoulder ripping through Bruce's shirt.

"Um…" Natasha added.

"Pancakes," Thor mused. "Didn't someone say something about those a minute ago? And what is Barbecue?"

Steve interrupted Loki. "Natasha and Thor, prepare the extraction, followed by full exit - we meet at zero eight hundred at SHIELD local HQ. Tony, get Miss Potts to prepare transport, meds, full reports. Prisoner Loki, continue status quo." He glanced at Thor. "And food. We'll need plenty of that."

"Works for me, except you forgot Jack Daniels." Tony was cut off as Natasha gripped his arm and pushed him to the stairs.

Before she could leave, Loki caught her arm. His whisper, filled with intense purpose, surged into her ear. "Once these tedious details are swept aside, it  _will_  be just you and me," he promised.


	20. Keelhauled

"Tell me again why I shouldn't slap your black and green behind into maximum security right now?" Fury smacked his fist into the conference table and glared at Prisoner Loki.

"Aside from the fact it did not work last time?" The accused replied softly, but a dangerous glare came into his eyes.

Natasha had heard about enough; in any case it was time to defuse the situation. "Sir, I have submitted my full report per your request. You will see that the release of the planes and the team itself were both due to Loki's intervention."

"I read your report," Nick growled. "It gets a bit thin regarding the future, when this loose cannon sitting in  _my_  office at  _my_  conference table decides to ride the titanium version of Shamu through the streets of New York again."

"That did not work either," Loki commented, but his glare had been replaced with an amused twinkle.

Clint turned his entire body to face Natasha. " _Why_ are you defending him again, exactly?"

"Because," she said through her teeth, "it is the right thing to do."

"Bravo!" Thor stood up and began to applaud her.

"Little Orphan Annie," Tony said. "The Shining, Spiderman, Drag Me to Hell. Oh, and interestingly, Iron Man, although I have some issues with that one."

Nick skewered him with a glance. "Stark, what the hell are you talking about?"

Natasha blinked. "I believe he's reeling off a list of movies with famous subtext – in theory, at least." She glared at Tony, who turned his hands palm off and sat back with 'who, me?' expression.

Fury sat down. "Look, it's out of my hands. I expect a message any second now from Asgard demanding his return. And when it comes, I have to comply."

Natasha rose so suddenly she sent the chair spinning into the wall. Everyone jumped except for Loki, whose amusement seemed to increase. "Very well," she said in a level tone, "and I will also comply, as usual. It's what I do. However, I want to point out I would not be here now if it weren't for the actions of the guy you still insist on calling 'Prisoner'." With one final, lethal glance around the room, she seized her laptop and marched out of the door.

Ignoring the cries behind her – it sounded like both Bruce and Steve were shouting her name – she sprinted to the corridor, hauled herself up into the airvent, and shimmied back to her room. As soon as she returned, she triple-bolted the door and sat on the couch with her computer.

Instantly her phone began to ring. She hit the power down button and chucked it into a far corner of the room.

In her laptop was info for a contact she hadn't used in years, a costumier in Manhattan. Opening her email browser, she typed a quick message:

_Dear Magda,_

_I need to hire you for a quick job. The turn around time is really tight, but I know you are the one person who can fulfill it…_

Someone banged on her door; a few seconds later, there were thunderous blows as another joined the first.  _Thor,_  Natasha thought.  _Please don't break down my door._  She didn't move, concentrating instead on her message. At last the knocking stopped, and the would-be visitors seemed to take the hint and leave.

Natasha sighed, hit Send, and moved on to another contact. She had a great deal to do and not a lot of time to accomplish it.

* * *

In his own room Loki lay back on the hard pillow, covered his eyes with one forearm, and laughed bitterly.  _What were the odds!_  Just as he had found a compelling reason to stay in Midgard he was about to be keelhauled back to Asgard by the All-Father. Typical, and as usual he had no one to blame but himself. Of course, that wouldn't stop him from making everyone's life a misery when he returned. Already he felt a small shred of sympathy for his mother.

His plans for winning Natasha to his bed (which he had intended to develop and hone over several months) now would have to come to fruition in a few days at the very least. For an instant he considered abandoning the whole enterprise, but the image of her face in the conference room flashed into his mind: her voice low and devoid of emotion, her passion showing only in the force she used on the chair and the door. And there had been a flush over her cheekbones, a hectic colour he had never seen before on her face.

No, he could not give her up; she was too magnificent. However, the game between them had changed. In fact if he were truthful with himself for once, the affair was a game no longer,. The entire situation had become something much more serious, and he had the suspicion he  _might_  eventually become a different type of being as a result.

Lost in these introspective thoughts as well as the continual swirl of trickery, bribes, plans, and lies percolating through his brain, he tossed on the narrow mattress Midgardians called a bed. At last he could bear it no longer.

With a frustrated sigh he rose, crossed swiftly to his laptop, and opened it. There was at least one thing he could set up, one last accomplishment before he was born off like an unwilling schoolboy to Odin's displeasure.

Quickly his fingers tapped the keys, reorganizing and creating a new online company. When he ran into difficulties, he accessed the funds already misappropriated from the sex slavery group. Once those monies were gone, he took down a crystal meth operation in the Midwest.

The leader of the meth group (a supremely stupid pedophile with the unlikely name of Loc-Dog) would be surprised when he discovered the zero balance of his fat bank account ironically marked "Snacks for Bible Study Group." The man's face – pasty, self-congratulatory, and trembling with extra chins – irked Loki so much he sent Loc-Dog's file to Fury's desktop for investigation along with a detailed plan for taking him, the meth lab, and his pedophilia connections down in three simple steps.

Loc-Dog's entire fortune went into the account Loki meant to use for his own affairs.

That completed, Loki finalized his virtual creation. And as he formatted the files for memory transfer, a seismic thought occurred to him: perhaps, just perhaps, the change in him had already begun.

At that moment someone knocked on the door.

_Natasha, at last!_  Loki set down the computer and rose to answer it, tipping over a chair and getting tangled in the legs as a result. When he flung open the door, his eyebrows descended when he found a red-faced intern on the other side holding out a large envelope.

"What?" Loki snarled.

The youth dropped the package at his feet and took to his heels. Chuckling at the sight of the boy fleeing like a frightened rabbit, Loki closed the door, picked up the envelope, and slit it open.

Inside there was a heavy rectangle: an engraved invitation. He held it up, read the words on it, and smiled.  _Aha,_  he thought.

The date on the card was for the following night; he considered and nodded with approval. It would give him enough time to prepare the last phase before the All-Father's hand curled around the back of his collar to drag him back to the deepest dungeon in Asgard.


	21. Ballerina

Dressed in a white shirt and slim tie, Loki made his way to the place indicated on the ornate card The Black Widow sent him the day before. Included in the envelope was a set of coordinates for a room inside Stark Tower on a floor he had not visited before.

Never one to hesitate, he threw open the door and stepped inside. The room within was shrouded in darkness, but his eyes quickly grew accustomed. He was inside a small theater, probably used for entertainment when Stark wished to impress friends or business partners.

Loki's eyebrows rose and a lusty grin spread his lips; so the Black Widow was given to performance.  _Interesting!_  He eyed the small stage, imagining the many activities one could enact there …perhaps he should have locked the door…

Too late. The lights dimmed further, except for one tiny spotlight shining on a single seat. Loki made his way to it and saw a Sakura blossom resting on the chair; obviously it was meant for him.

His smile widened in appreciation.  _So she will perform for me first?_  His unruly member hardened at the mere thought, and he shifted in his seat. He had yet to win her to his bed, had not yet sunk himself inside her body, and already she held him in thrall. His mind quickly flitted over the goddesses and magic beings he had pursued and won, Lorelei and Amora among them. None of them could hold a candle to the flame-haired Russian spy; she had already outplayed him several times.

Those lusty thoughts were cut off as whispery, soft music seemed to blow across the theater like an ocean wind. The light above his chair went out and was replaced by one over the stage where Natasha – his Natasha - stood.

She was in silhouette, her back to him, the light outlining her body and the flaming halo of her hair. As she turned, she raised one arm in a languid, elegant gesture, and he realized she had outplayed him yet again. This was no sex show, no mere pornographic display – instead, she was revealing the ballerina, the side of her he had requested when he was battered in the Clerkenwall tunnels, poisoned and naked, at the end of his strength. How could he have forgotten?

Natasha rose on the pointes of her toes to sway back and forth, her arms following the quick movements of her feet, and Loki's mouth opened in surprise as he saw her ballet costume. It was very simple, a mere wisp of blue fabric with a tight bodice and a skirt that billowed out in a complete circle as Natasha pirouetted in her dance.

The blue dress was outlined in silver, complex designs following the lines of her body. Her pointe shoes were also blue, and their ribbons had the same silver embroidery.

_Jotunn. She was wearing a Jotunn dress._

Loki felt absurd tears prick his eyelids as the ballerina, slender as a reed, moved and swayed across the stage. The theme of her dance was obvious; the dancer was imprisoned by her situation. And more than that – she had been caged by what she herself was inside. And yet, in the dance, she reached beyond her prison bars for the beauty and freedom she alone could see just out of reach. Held within evil and ugliness, her dance celebrated the nobility she knew was there if only she could grasp it.

Again and again she whirled and leaped, the simple skirt fanning out with the movement of her legs and arms, the strains of the haunting music leading her to greater heights. Natasha Romanova, the famous Russian Ballerina – it had been a false, implanted memory. Loki knew that much, and yet she was more graceful, more passionate than any dancer he had ever seen perform before, whether it had been opera dancers performing for huge throngs or trained concubines entertaining haughty nobility.

The music rose to a crescendo, and she started a long series of pirouettes. As she twirled, her legs moved with grace, her arms lifted to balance the attitude, and her sheer skirt spun out. From his seat, Loki could admire every inch of her perfect body. If he desired, he could ogle the angle of her bust, the lines of her taut muscles, the lift of her derriere. And yet for once, lust was the last thing in his mind and in his heart. Instead he felt as though Natasha lifted him up with her as she soared to that just-unreachable place of light and freedom where beauty and truth were given a starlit moment to triumph over sordid ambition and the ways of men.

And gods.

At last the notes died away, and Loki's heart shivered with sadness as the dance came to an end. He could have watched her all night.

Natasha slid into her final attitude – one leg bent to kneel on the floor, the other stretched out behind her, both arms and her face lifted to the ceiling as if in supplication. A ragged sob tore itself out of his chest, and like a man possessed he rose from his seat and vaulted onto the stage. Cupping her chin, he forced her to stand upright. "Do  _not_  kneel to me, Natasha Romanova," he demanded. "You were a goddess on the stage tonight, and you must never kneel to anyone in this realm or any other, ever again."

As she got quickly to her feet with a startled look in her blue eyes, her lips parted with some unknown emotion. Loki sank onto one knee in front of her and grasped both her hands in his. Gazing up into her face framed by the red curls, in a broken voice he murmured the only words left to him: "By my troth, fair lady, if you would grant me your favours you shall illuminate this poor knight."

Natasha's blue eyes regarded him with her direct, clear glance. After a long moment of hesitation while Loki felt his heart quiver with both fear and exaltation at once, her cheekbones bunched slightly with amusement as she rewarded him with the expression he loved best - her secret smile.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - I'm close to the end of The Q Word. There's a sequel coming,The Tail of the Dragon - and I promise more Blackfrost smut and adventure. Hope to see you in Asgard!


	22. I Am In Chains

Natasha ran with him through the corridor to the elevator; when it didn't come immediately at a touch of a button, Loki seized her hand and dragged her to the stairs. Natasha dashed after him, staggering slightly in her pointe shoes. "I can't run in these!" she argued. Without hesitation Loki lifted her up to carry her up the steps. She looked at him from the circle of his arms: his strong chin and the pale column of his neck. Fear mingled with an emotion she didn't want to even recognize shot through her belly, and she tried not to gasp aloud.

As they rounded the last curve to reach her floor, he winked at her and began to laugh, the sound echoing in the stairwell. Natasha tried to shush him, but she knew her own eyes were dancing with mirth. When at last they tumbled into her apartment and pitched straight on the floor together, Loki landed on top of her and a hoarse chuckle forced its way out of her chest. He straightened his arms to look down at her, his eyes gleaming. "Is this what it takes to make you actually laugh aloud?"

"The door," she responded. Loki got to his feet, helped her up, and slammed it shut in the face of Maria Hill, who happened to be passing by at that very moment. Her shocked glance was the last thing Natasha saw before he turned the lock and whirled her into his arms, all in one fluid motion.

She started to protest, but his mouth covered hers. Loki took advantage of her parted lips to taste her tongue, and all thought of Hill or anyone other than the tall slim god kissing her flew out of her mind.

He broke the embrace long enough to pant, "Bed." She pointed, and he swept her up in his arms again and strode to her bedroom, kicking the door open on his way to toss her onto the pillows.

When he landed on top of her, she held him back with one hand to look at him. His long black hair fell over his shoulders, and his sharp cheekbones had an almost girlish beauty. She could just make out the shadows of Lady Loki beneath the surface. The contrast of his feminine aspect with Loki's sharply masculine attire and the feral desire in his eyes was electric.

Natasha moaned, her eyelids fluttering. It was almost too much. "Open your eyes, darling," Loki ordered; "I want you to watch us…" She didn't let him finish as she captured his lips in another passionate kiss, and it was his turn to moan as she sucked on his lower lip and grazed it with her teeth.

His strong arms pulled her upright as he ripped the Jotunn dancer dress over her head; her breasts bounced free and he pounced, capturing one pink tip between his teeth. She tried to reciprocate by pulling off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, but she was too impatient. "Fuck this," she said, and she grasped the lapels and pulled. Buttons shot all over the bed and the floor as his chest was bared to her touch; he laughed again and she sighed softly as their bodies touched, skin to skin.

"My ballerina." Loki pushed her back on the pillows to capture her foot still shod in her toe shoes. With one tug, he untied the ribbons and pushed one, then the other, off her feet. Before she could move, her leotards and panties were ripped off her legs, until she was completely naked underneath him.

She meant to complain he was still dressed, but his mouth came down forcefully over hers once more. By wriggling frantically, she was just able to get his belt unbuckled and slide the pants off his muscled thighs. Under them, he wore nothing. Her eyes widened as the realization hit her, and it felt as though her insides had exploded, making her arch up to meet him halfway. He laughed again, a note of pure mischief and joy, as he lifted her hips and smoothly slipped inside her.

The feeling was unbelievable, as though a bolt of lightning had erupted through her vitals. It made her scream, and he echoed her shouts as he thrust into her, pouring unintelligible words in her curls followed by a long phrase in Old Norse.

Natasha wound both hands in his hair. He stared down into her eyes, still moving inside her, and a white line appeared above his mouth as he panted, "You are too beautiful. Too tight. Too wet. I have wanted this desperately for too much time. I will not last long, Natasha…"

"Nor will I," she panted, and he resumed his frantic plunges between her thighs. Every muscle and nerve in her body seemed to dissolve and explode again and, unbelievably, again. As she screamed again in the midst of her pulsing orgasms, he cried out and she felt his seed flood inside her, into her secret heart before they both collapsed.

After a long, vibrating interval, Natasha turned her head slowly to gaze into Loki's eyes. He was already watching her; under her hands she felt him tremble. "You're shaking," she gasped out, between ragged breaths.

Loki choked out a laugh that sounded like a sob. "You are as well," he said, and he gently cupped her cheek and lowered his head to kiss her softly, exploring her mouth and neck with his lips, teeth, and tongue. " _That's_  how I meant it to be," he said. "I vowed to take my time, not dive in like a lovestruck youth."

"I rather enjoyed the lovestruck youth," she replied before she knew what she was saying.

At that he buried his face in her neck. A moment later she heard him whisper,  _"In a sweet bondage – lives for long And softly sings for her a song Under a sensual night's cover…"_

Her heart stopped, stuttered. The line was from her favorite Russian love sonnet. "You aren't bound yet," she whispered.

His voice was deadly serious as he looked directly into her eyes. "Natasha, I have never been more imprisoned than I am at this very moment."

She stared into his green gaze, opened her mouth, shut it again, terrified of the words taking her over the edge. At last she remembered a fragment, long-forgotten from a class she had once taken at a whim.  _"Skammt leidd ek skyran Skrauta-Njord or gardi…"_  she murmured,  _"munda ek leitt hafa lengra, Ef land fir laegi vaeri Ok aegur marr yrdi allr at graenum velli…"_

The sight of his tears sliding down his face blurred in front of her. As one, they clasped each other as though their bodies were the only refuge in a severe and unyielding storm.

* * *

Later, Natasha insisted on taking a shower. Loki rose and followed her in; under the warm water he made love to her again just as fiercely. She stepped out when the water ran cold, staggering with desire, and handed him a towel. "Hungry?" she sighed.

"Yes." Loki caught her up in his arms, towel and all, and deposited her back on the bed among the crumpled sheets and blankets. There he kissed her nose, her eyelids, her chin, the entire length of her arm from shoulder to fingertips.

"Poor Hill," Natasha mused.

"Hill? Why so?"

"You shut the door in her face when we arrived here…"

"Did I?" He leaned forward, started to nibble on her earlobe. "There was only one woman in my sight."

She looked down, at Loki's arm clasped around her waist, the long muscles of his thigh made taut from horseback, his erection already rising again just for her. "I never expected the god of mischief and lies to be such a tender lover. Could you explain that to me?"

"It was the one thing I was allowed to be good at."

She tilted her head to one side. "Meaning?"

"Can you imagine the tutors I had in Asgard? Huge, beef-witted fellows, all of them. 'Loki, you must fight with your fists, not your mind.' "No, Loki, reading is for cowards.' 'Loki, put your drawings away; they are a waste of effort.' 'Loki, be more like Thor.' Etcetera."

"And all the time," she said slowly, "you knew at once the better way to achieve the same end, to solve their puzzles and problems, and you weren't allowed to even attempt it."

He laughed, a mere wisp of sound. "Yes. By the Nine, yes."

"So, when you became a man – well, the godly version of one, anyway – seduction became an art?"

Loki made an impatient movement. "Perhaps. And I am certain you can also imagine the horrors of keeping company with my adolescent self, Natasha, once I discovered the sensual side of my nature."

A smile curved her lips slightly. "I did read something about trees and stones…"

He threw his head back with laughter. "Yes! Although I promise I did not actually look for an accommodating crevice. In Asgard even the stones are inhabited by nymphs, and of course dryads live in some of the trees."

She nodded. "Good to know. And thus, I suppose, your exploits became legendary."

"Darling, believe me, you have not yet seen the start of my legendary exploits. And you may wish to inspect the lovebites I left on your neck, by the by, before you accuse me of gentleness. I wanted  _everyone_  to know we have been fucking." His eyes creased with laughter, and he drew her close to tease her with his tongue.

She was just able to evade him. "I have been thinking of something."

"Oh?" His fingers threaded through her curls, and he bent her face up with one finger to gaze down at her.

"The Q word."

He let out an exasperated sigh, let go, and sat back on his elbows. "Well? What about it?"

"No, listen. I was thinking about our argument, and I realized that other words for the same part of the body are so ugly – 'twat' for example, and of course 'cunt' is dreadful. But the word 'quim' is actually quite beautiful."

"For a very, very beautiful thing," he murmured. "Thank you, darling, for what sounds like your forgiveness at last. And," he added, "as selfish as I am, I have another request for you." With a sudden movement, he produced a sharp, wicked knife from somewhere.

Natasha let go of his shoulders and started back. "What the hell is that for?"

"This." Softly he picked up one red curl, and with the knife he sliced off the strand. "I want to have something that is intimately yours."

She was about to exclaim in annoyance when he lifted the tiny bright ringlet to his lips.  _Damn him,_  she thought.  _He overthrows me at every turn._

Carefully he put the curl to one side, and his eyes glazed with desire as he reached for her once more.

* * *

Much later he produced a tray of her favorite caviar and mushroom vareniki – the very treats she had wished for as she climbed up the underground cliff in the dark. Naturally, a perfectly iced bottle of vodka accompanied them. Natasha ate a square of toast with crème fraiche and caviar, chased it all down with a long swig of Purus. It felt incredibly decadent to sit with him and drink vodka, while they watched the sun come up over the streets of Manhattan.

Loki eyed the fish roe suspiciously. "What does it taste like?"

Natasha swallowed her drink and wound her arms around his neck to kiss him. "There. What do you think?"

He considered. "Salt, spirits… but I need to have another taste." Amused, she kissed him again. "Yes, and the unforgettable flavor of your lips. Delicious."

He plunged into her mouth, and she tasted him, a heady mix of alcohol, spice, and masculine tongue. "Ohhhhh," she sighed.

"Ohhhhhh!" he laughed as he kissed her again and again. "Mmmmmmm."

The apologetic, polite tones of Jarvis broke into their flickering, bruised reverie. "Agent Romanoff, may I have a word?"

Natasha detached herself to answer. She already dreaded the response. "Yes, I'm here. What is it?"

"Prisoner Loki needs to come to the transfer room," Loki said in a harsh, ironic tone.

"Prisoner Loki needs to come to the transfer room," Jarvis said at the same moment.

"Very well, Jarvis. Understood." Natasha looked down at her hands, woven with Loki's fingers in her lap. "I'll come with you." She stood to find clothes and get dressed, but he quickly rose and stopped her with his hands on her hips.

"No. I do not want to say farewell to you in front of a group of official idiots." She frowned, but he made a hasty, impatient gesture. "Better to end it here, darling, as we are at this very moment – still aching for each other even after we have made love all night."

She felt sobriety strike her like cold iron after a long, stolen period of luscious, liquid luxury. With another quick gesture, Loki magically appeared in his full armor. Carefully he picked up the red curl he had cut from her hair and tucked it into a hidden corner among his complicated layers.

Natasha closed her eyes; her throat burned with things she no longer had time to say. "Will you…?" she gasped at last, unable to finish the sentence.

"I will," he said. "Darling, I  _will_."

"Wait." She hitched up the towel she still wore around her and held out her hand. "Give me your knife."

Despite the tears in his eyes, a mischievous smile curled his lips and made dimples crease his cheeks as she took the dagger from him and cut off one black lock. Her mouth quivered as he kissed her softly, his tongue just grazing her lips.

"Goodbye." She swore she would never say that word again, so bitter and painful it was at that moment on her palate.

"Darling, I nearly forgot! I brought you a present." Loki picked up his discarded white shirt from her floor and reached into the pocket. He retrieved a flash drive, gave it to her, and ran one hand through his hair with a rueful smile. "I hope it pleases you."

The memory stick seemed to hang in the air for a moment before it dropped to the ground.

Loki, however, had disappeared.

Natasha dropped to her knees, picked the tiny object up, and held it and the lock of soft, black hair against her cheek.  _No emotion_ , she told herself.  _You are not allowed to feel any more emotion._

**_It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it—as I had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved my lips—it came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over me. The whole consciousness of my life lorn, my love lost, my hope quenched, my faith death-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot be described: in truth, "the waters came into my soul; I sank in deep mire: I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me." - Jane Eyre_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the poem Loki was quoting, from the Russian poet Pushkin:
> 
> I am in chains, O maiden-rose,
> 
> And yet, not shameful of these guards;
> 
> A nightingale, thus, – in dense laurels –
> 
> A feathered king of the woods' bards,
> 
> A proud and charming rose over,
> 
> In a sweet bondage – lives for long
> 
> And softly sings for her a song
> 
> Under a sensual night's cover.
> 
> And clever Natasha countered with a Norse love poem. There aren't too many of those; the Vikings made it illegal to write about love. However, one anonymous maiden wrote the lines below, and I really hope her lover made it back from the sea to her bed bringing fierce kisses in exchange for this lovely verse:
> 
> I walked awhile with him
> 
> But I wanted to walk longer.
> 
> My feet just passed the fence;
> 
> My heart followed still farther.
> 
> If waves had been wide lands,
> 
> Had seas been grassy pastures
> 
> There would have been no limit
> 
> To the length of my walk with him.


	23. The Petrovitch Foundation

"Agent, a word."

Natasha, back at her station after several days' absence, approached Nick Fury's alcove. "Yes," she replied in a calm, toneless tone.

"Hill spoke with me a few hours ago, and I…"

"No." Natasha shook her head. "No, I won't talk about what Maria saw. I will do whatever you need – I'll use my body and my training on any case or mission you choose to send me on, but I will  _not_ discuss the issue you are about to bring up."

Nick didn't move for several seconds. "I simply wanted to ask if you were compromised in any way," he said at last.

She might have been carved from marble; no tremor or tiny movement betrayed her thoughts. "Nothing to do with SHIELD. Not now, not ever."

"Okay." He touched her arm, a mere brush of his knuckles along her elbow, and for one moment a wild, desperate look came into her eyes. It disappeared so quickly he couldn't be certain he had ever seen it in the first place. "Listen, about the previous mission, I do need to ask you a few things. Are you all right with that?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"Good." Nick brought up her report on his screen. "You stated the passengers were led to safety by Clint, thanks to a cache of hidden weaponry in the area. Did you have anything to do with placing it there?"

"No, sir."

"Well, just who put the weapons there, then?"

Natasha clenched her jaw, and he saw how thin she had become, her skin pale against the dark material of her Kevlar uniform. "I think you already know the answer to the question."

He nodded. "And as for the Clerkenwell Syndicate, it has been taken down thanks to a series of online reveals and undercover investigations initiated from an IP address within Stark Tower. Again, who did this?"

Natasha's blue gaze didn't waver. "The same as the library cache."

"I've also been handed a step-by-step take-down for a Midwest drug operation. In fact, the group has already been defunded and is on the verge of crumbling. The same?" She sighed, and he added, "Nasty bunch of little shits, too. They were about to launch a line of pedophiles' support and hookups to lure more kids in. Anyway, they are going down as we speak, thanks to…"

"Yeah."

"So, I have three separate cases all stamped closed, bringing our success rate up to 94.5%. Furthermore, the guy who did it all has been banished to Asgard. I don't know about you, but I happen to have a problem with that."

"Sir, you would need to talk to Thor. Or someone from Asg…" Her breath hitched, and she couldn't continue.

"I know. I've got a feeling it's not so easy, though – there's probably a whole bunch of red tape and protocol I'm about to breach. And if there is anything I hate, it's extra red tape. Still, if I go ahead with this, I just wanted to know I have your support."

She tilted her head to one side, her eyes appearing interested at last. "Why ask me?"

"Don't let it get to your head. You seemed like the most obvious choice." One corner of Fury's mouth rose slightly, and Natasha nodded.

"You always have my support, sir."

"I know the situation is all feely and forbidden and junk like that, but I just have to say you two are like the Olympic champions of nano-emotion," Tony blurted.

* * *

She couldn't talk to Steve or Pepper. She couldn't confide in Bruce, and even the thought of spilling her guts to Clint made her feel ready to vomit. At last she went back to her room to make another attempt to sleep or at least lie down for a few hours.

It lasted for exactly seven minutes. Natasha flung the covers off, sat up, and glanced around her apartment. Why had she never noticed how claustrophobic it was? Her rooms were like a box, an opaque version of the glass cage that had once housed …

"This has got to stop." She got out of bed, banging her hip on a drawer on her bedside table. Natasha fought the urge to rip it out, throw it through the wall, and blast the offending furniture with her Hauser.

Inside the drawer was a lock of black hair. She was about to slam it shut when she saw the memory stick Loki gave her.

Natasha drew a long, shuddering sigh and reached for the stick. Cursing herself, she picked up her laptop and attached the card.

Instantly a file popped up marked "Agent Romanova." Her cursor hovered over it. Would the file contain virtual flowers, poetry, or sweet words to make her melt? She  _really_  didn't need anything sentimental at that moment.

Instead, the folder contained several neatly recorded spreadsheets and a sheaf of word docs. The one marked Info was the obvious place to start.

Natasha opened the file. It was a description of a charity designed to help the victims of sex trafficking and slavery, a group to provide housing, education, and group support. Several way-stations were already available in the most necessary areas, and ten more were in the process of being developed.

The name of the group was "The Petrovitch Foundation."

She sat back, feeling as though someone had just punched her in the stomach. The charity, the name, the entire concept – they were all spot on. The file was the perfect present. It just couldn't have been more cleverly designed.

The Excel files showed the foundation was fully endowed, with financial plans to increase its holdings at a slow percentage to account for growth and inflation. All tax-exempt and government forms were already filed; she had nothing to do but sit back and make certain the right people ran the show.

Her phone rang, and she jumped. Clint was calling.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied. "I just checked my calendar, and in about five weeks I have one, maybe two hours off. Want to go and get a boatload of food and alcohol with me then?"

"In five weeks? I might be able to arrange some free time. Sounds good."

"Okay." He knew enough not to prolong it; the phone clicked and went silent. Clint – her perfect partner and friend. In five weeks she might even be able to function enough to seem somewhat normal.

Natasha stared at the screen for a moment. She had to have more. She needed to have a long conversation with someone who would _completely_ understand. The only problem was that person didn't exist, at least not in her world, not any longer.

_Or was that true?_

A sudden idea seized her, and she leaned forward. Filled with a hope and drive she had almost forgotten, Natasha began to type and scan the Internet. At last she came up with the information she needed, and she plugged a number into her phone.

A series of calls led her to the person she wanted. A voice, husky and filled with intelligence, answered on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Dr. Jane Foster? This is Natasha Romanova speaking. I was hoping you and I could meet."

FIN

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Don't worry, guys: I am SO not going to leave it there.
> 
> I have the second volume ready to upload. It's nearly completed and edited, so if you want more of Loki and Natasha look for The Tail of the Dragon in a few days. I always post update links on Tumblr at Blackfrost Shenanigan, as well as other Blackfrost stories and art, so please check it out.
> 
> In the meantime, thanks so much to all those who took the time to review and DM me about my little story. I can't tell you how much fun I had writing it as well as the sequel.
> 
> Feel free to send me a message if you have a question or critique; reviews truly feed the writer's soul.


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